She became very quiet,
and never laughed except under protest. Also, she showed
signs of petulance when any of us, but especially father,
teased her about her beau. I pitied her, for I think I
understood better than the others what her feelings really were.
But even I was not prepared for what did happen.
I would not have believed that Aunt Olivia could do it.
I thought that her desire for marriage in the abstract would
outweigh the disadvantages of the concrete. But one can never
reckon with real, bred-in-the-bone old-maidism.
One morning Mr. Malcolm MacPherson told us all that he was
coming up that evening to make Aunt Olivia set the day.
Peggy and I laughingly approved, telling him that it was high time
for him to assert his authority, and he went off in great good
humour across the river field, whistling a Highland strathspey.
But Aunt Olivia looked like a martyr. She had a fierce attack
of housecleaning that day, and put everything in flawless order,
even to the corners.
"As if there was going to be a funeral in the house," sniffed Peggy.
Peggy and I were up in the south-west room at dusk that evening,
piecing a quilt, when we heard Mr. Malcolm MacPherson
shouting out in the hall below to know if anyone was home.
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