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doctor in any proper legal sense, I would rather you not.”
    Mrs. Barton gaped in disgust. “What an inestimable privilege it is for me to be receiving such sauce and pepper from you, and at such an early hour!” Mrs. Barton folded her arms in a harlequinade of parental disapproval.
    Maggie held her ground. “You are a widow, Mamma. And he is a widow er , and I would rather not have him for a father, and that is that.” She turned again to go.
    â€œYou know very well and good,” said Mrs. Barton, addressing her daughter’s back, “it was the death of Molly’s mother and that baby which drove him to the spirits. But two years have passed and he drinks far less than he used to, for he has told me it is no longer necessary to apply such a heavy salve to his mourning heart, when the heart seems to be mending itself sufficiently without medicinal assistance.”
    â€œMedicinal indeed,” mumbled Maggie.
    â€œWhat was that you said?”
    â€œNo film or cloud has ever passed over my eyes, Mamma. What I see, and see quite clearly, is a woman who wishes to marry a certain dentist who would be a doctor, and if I am to place myself before this looking-glass…” Which Maggie did, taking the opportunity of reflection to adjust her bonnet. “…I would see, as well, a daughter who could not under any imaginable circumstances permit her mother to do so.”
    Mrs. Barton’s voice became adamantine: “My darling dear! You are neither my keeper nor my turnkey. It is unavoidable illness that has placed me with frequent inconvenience upon this cot, but I am still free and unbound in thought and spirit; whatever control you feel you exercise over me is illusory.”
    â€œIf you have done, Mamma, I will conclude this most uncomfortable interview by stating that if you marry Dr. Osborne, I shall very likely kill myself.”
    Mrs. Barton turned to look at nothing at all upon the bedroom wall. “Mind, just don’t throw yourself down the well and pollute the town drinking water.” Then, turning back to her daughter’s dorsum with a sad moan of repentance: “You are so very fond of Molly. Would you not wish to have her for a stepsister?”
    â€œYou know that in a very real sense Molly is already my sister. Molly and Jane and Carrie and Ruth. We are, all of us, much more than mere friends. There is no need for you to marry a frequently intoxicated tooth-tugger to have what I, in point of fact, have already. Now I’m very late, Mamma, and I’m keeping the other girls. You know we walk together, and when one of us is late we are all late. Mrs. Colthurst doesn’t like that.”
    â€œMaggie?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMr. Osborne has already put things into motion. He has asked me to marry him.”
    Maggie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to steady herself. “I rather suspected.”
    â€œAnd now that it is become a very real thing, have you anything new to say in response?”
    â€œAnything new ? No, Mamma, I have not.”
    Maggie moved with a heavy tread to the door.
    â€œAre you going to leave without kissing me?”
    â€œI’ve kissed you already.”
    With that, Maggie Barton betook herself in great haste down the steps and then flew out the front door and down the lane, whilst her mother sate up in bed and bowed her head in silent lament.
    Then Clara Barton raised her head and shook it, and shook her shoulders as if to wrest herself free of a tangible burden placed thereupon, whilst saying to herself, “I do not live only to satisfy the whims of my selfish, benighted daughter. And I will not have this special day spoilt!” Subsequently, she stretched out her arms and yawned and embraced the morning in a mood that was uplifted by calling to mind Osborne’s visit the previous day under the pretext of administering drops to clarify his patient’s vision. Yet the visit carried a far