gather force to grapple again with the larger fact that he and Marcia were
just engaged to be married.

Marcia stopped down, and pulled her mother up out of her chair with a hug.
"Oh, come now, mother: You mustn't let it take your breath away," she said,
with patronizing fondness. "I'm not afraid of what father will say. You
know what he thinks of Bartley,--or Mr. Hubbard, as I presume you'll want
me to call him! Now, mother, you just run up stairs, and put on your best
cap, and leave me to set the table and get up the dinner. I guess I can get
Bartley to help me. Mother, mother, mother!" she cried, in happiness that
was otherwise unutterable, and clasping her mother closer in her strong
young arms, she kissed her with a fervor that made her blush again before
the young man.

"Marcia, Marcia! You hadn't ought to! It's ridiculous!" she protested. But
she suffered herself to be thrust out of the room, grateful for exile, in
which she could collect her scattered wits and set herself to realize the
fact that had dispersed them. It was decorous, also, for her to leave
Marcia alone with Mr. Hubbard, far more so now than when he was merely
company; she felt that, and she fumbled over the dressing she was sent
about, and once she looked out of her chamber window at the office where
Mr. Gaylord sat, and wondered what Mr. Gaylord (she thought of him, and
even dreamt of him, as Mr. Gaylord, and had never, in the most familiar
moments, addressed him otherwise) _would_ say! But she left the solution
of the problem to him and Marcia; she was used to leaving them to the
settlement of their own difficulties.

"Now, Bartley," said Marcia, in the business-like way that women assume in
such matters, as soon as the great fact is no longer in doubt, "you must
help me to set the table. Put up that leaf and I'll put up this. I'm going