"Well," she asked, gravely, "is there anything else I can do? You
and papa don't want me to do anything that distresses me, and so,
as this is the only thing to be done, it seems it's up to me not to
let it distress me. That's all there is about it, isn't it?"
"But nothing MUST distress you!" the mother cried.
"That's what I say!" said Mary, cheerfully. "And so it doesn't.
It's all right." She rose and took her cloak over her arm, as if to
go to her own room. But on the way to the door she stopped, and stood
leaning against the foot of the bed, contemplating a threadbare rug at
her feet. "Mother, you've told me a thousand times that it doesn't
really matter whom a girl marries."
"No, no!" Mrs. Vertrees protested. "I never said such a--"
"No, not in words; I mean what you MEANT. It's true, isn't it, that
marriage really is 'not a bed of roses, but a field of battle'? To
get right down to it, a girl could fight it out with anybody, couldn't
she? One man as well as another?"
"Oh, my dear! I'm sure your father and I--"
"Yes, yes," said Mary, indulgently. "I don't mean you and papa.
But isn't it propinquity that makes marriages? So many people
say so, there must be something in it.
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