Marcia felt a sob rising in a tide of joy into her throat. Then he was not angry with her, and he did not disapprove as the two aunts had done. Aunt Clarinda had kissed her good-night and murmured, "You are a bright little girl, Marcia, and you will make a good wife for David. You will come soon to see me, won't you?" and that had made her glad, but these words of David's were so good and so unexpected that Marcia could hardly hide her happy tears.
"I was afraid I had been forward," murmured Marcia in the shadow of the front stoop.
"Not at all, child, I like to hear a woman speak her mind,--that is, allowing she has any mind to speak. That can't be said of all women. There's Hannah Heath, for instance. I don't believe she would know a railroad project from an essay on ancient art."
After that the house seemed a pleasant place aglow as they entered it, and Marcia went up to her rest with a lighter heart.
But the child knew not that she had made a great impression that night upon all who saw her as being beautiful and wise.
The aunts would not express it even to each other,--for they felt in duty bound to discountenance her boldness in speaking out before the men and making herself so prominent, joining in their discussions,--but each in spite of her convictions felt a deep satisfaction that their neighbors had seen what a beautiful and bright wife David had selected. They even felt triumphant over their favorite Hannah, and thought secretly that Marcia compared well with her in every way, but they would not have told this even to themselves, no, not for worlds.
So the kindly gossipy town slept, and the young bride became a part of its daily life.