Aunt Olivia need not have dreaded any more
opposition from her cruel family.
"MacPherson was a good fellow enough, but horribly poor," said father.
"I hear he has done very well out west, and if he and Olivia have a notion
of each other they are welcome to marry as far as I am concerned.
Tell Olivia she mustn't take a spasm if he tracks some mud into her house
once in a while."
Thus it was all arranged, and, before we realized it at all, Aunt Olivia
was mid-deep in marriage preparations, in all of which Peggy and I
were quite indispensable. She consulted us in regard to everything,
and we almost lived at her place in those days preceding the arrival
of Mr. Malcolm MacPherson.
Aunt Olivia plainly felt very happy and important. She had always
wished to be married; she was not in the least strong-minded
and her old-maidenhood had always been a sore point with her.
I think she looked upon it as somewhat of a disgrace.
And yet she was a born old maid; looking at her, and taking all
her primness and little set ways into consideration, it was quite
impossible to picture her as the wife of Mr. Malcolm MacPherson,
or anybody else.
We soon discovered that, to Aunt Olivia, Mr. Malcolm MacPherson
represented a merely abstract proposition--the man who was
to confer on her the long-withheld dignity of matronhood.
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