I wanted him to see us.

I wanted him to be right in the middle of his lecture and look down and see right there before him his little girl Mary, and she that had been the wife of his bosom.

Now _that_ would have been what I called thrilling, real thrilling, especially if he jumped or grew red, or white, or stammered, or stopped short, or anything to show that he'd seen us--and cared.
I'd have loved that.
But we sat back where Mother wanted to, behind the post.

And, of course, Father never saw us at all.
It was a lovely lecture.

Oh, of course, I don't mean to say that I understood it.