She had taken the baby along, which was another piece of foolishness which her mother would never have permitted had she been at home when Marie left.
Joe did not take the matter seriously, though he was disappointed at having made a fruitless trip to San Jose.

He did not believe that Marie had done anything more than take a vacation from her mother's sharp-tongued rule, and for that he could not blame her, after having listened for fifteen minutes to the lady's monologue upon the subject of selfish, inconsiderate, ungrateful daughters.

Remembering Marie's attitude toward Bud, he did not believe that she had gone hunting him.
Yet Marie had done that very thing.

True, she had spent a sleepless night fighting the impulse, and a harassed day trying to make up her mind whether to write first, or whether to go and trust to the element of surprise to help plead her cause with Bud; whether to take Lovin Child with her, or leave him with her mother.
She definitely decided to write Bud a short note and ask him if he remembered having had a wife and baby, once upon a time, and if he never wished that he had them still.

She wrote the letter, crying a little over it along toward the last, as women will.