“I want you to be happy outside of it, too. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be. And I want you to be rather close to me until you marry, Cecily. I want you to marry the right sort of man, one who will care for you and protect you.” “I’ve been thinking about marrying,” said Cecily ingenuously. Her mother looked at her aghast. “Marrying whom?” “Oh, just marrying.” “You mustn’t think about it at all, dear. I want you to marry some time. But put it out of your mind until the time comes. Just be happy and then, when the time comes when you want to choose a man, let me know him a little first.” “Of course,” Cecily became judicious, “I may never marry at all.” Mrs. Warner smiled and closed the conversation rather rapidly. “We can let that rest, dear.” She lingered to look over Cecily’s wardrobe, criticizing with severity the frocks which Cecily put before her. Heretofore there always had been three new black Peter Thompson suits, a blue mohair and a white net dress each year. Now it seemed all the standards were to be changed. Even Cecily’s loved blue sweater was cast into the discard. She was to have new things, an appalling amount. She lay wide awake, too happy to sleep, while her mother went into the library and sat down before her husband with a gesture of mock despair. “Cecily frightens me to death,” she declared. “Here she is, all grown-up and absolutely terrifying. She is full of a kind of wiseness which I suppose reflects the nuns. Imagine, she has just been talking about marriage. Said she had been thinking about it.” Mr. Warner reflected her own dismay and question. “But where did she meet any men?” “That’s just it--she hasn’t. She thinks about marriage in general. I didn’t encourage the subject. Imagine, at eighteen, coolly contemplating it without a giggle.” “Cecily doesn’t giggle much. I wonder if she has a sense of humor.” “She doesn’t giggle at all. But I think she has humor. She’s not stupid. She’s puzzling.” Mr. Warner smiled in a kind, wise fashion of his own. It was interesting to hear his wife reflect on herself as exemplified in her daughter--and funny--and pathetic. “You were puzzling too, my dear--you are puzzling.” She did not share his smile. “She is like me--and I won’t be able to get close to her because she is. I tell you that she frightens me, Leslie. If I thought she had to go through some things----” “She won’t, my dear. We’ll take jolly good care of that. She shall be cared for.” He rose a little heavily. “What we shall have to do now is to knock some of the sanctity out and replace it with gayety. I think I’ll teach her to smoke and play poker.” * * * * *