to do more for mother than I used to," she said, repentant in her bliss.
"It's a shame how much I've left to her." The domestic instinct was already
astir in her heart.

Bartley pulled the table-cloth straight from her, and vied with her in the
rapidity and exactness with which he arranged the knives and forks at right
angles beside the plates. When it came to some heavier dishes, they agreed
to carry them turn about; but when it was her turn, he put out his hand
to support her elbow: "As I did last night, and saved you from dropping a
lamp."

This made her laugh, and she dropped the first dish with a crash. "Poor
mother!" she exclaimed. "I know she heard that, and she'll be in agony to
know which one it is."

Mrs. Gaylord did indeed hear it, far off in her chamber, and quaked with an
anxiety which became intolerable at last.

"Marcia! Marcia!" she quavered, down the stairs, "what _have_ you broken?"

Marcia opened the door long enough to call back, "Oh, only the old
blue-edged platter, mother!" and then she flew at Bartley, crying, "For
shame! For shame!" and pressing her hand over his mouth to stifle his
laughter. "She'll hear you, Bartley, and think you're laughing at her." But
she laughed herself at his struggles, and ended by taking him by the hand
and pulling him out into, the kitchen, where neither of them could be
heard. She abandoned herself to the ecstasy of her soul, and he thought she
had never been so charming as in this wild gayety.

"Why, Marsh! I never saw you carry on so before!"