Mrs. Nettlepoint stared. 'Told you? There's one of the things they do!' 'Well, it was only a word. Won't you let me know whether you think she's a flirt?' 'Find out for yourself, since you pretend to study folks.' 'Oh, your judgment would probably not at all determine mine. It's in regard to yourself that I ask it.' 'In regard to myself?' 'To see the length of maternal immorality.' Mrs. Nettlepoint continued to repeat my words. 'Maternal immorality?' 'You desire your son to have every possible distraction on his voyage, and if you can make up your mind in the sense I refer to that will make it all right. He will have no responsibility.' 'Heavens, how you analyse! I haven't in the least your passion for making up my mind.' 'Then if you chance it you'll be more immoral still.' 'Your reasoning is strange,' said the poor lady; 'when it was you who tried to put it into my head yesterday that she had asked him to come.' 'Yes, but in good faith.' 'How do you mean in good faith?' 'Why, as girls of that sort do. Their allowance and measure in such matters is much larger than that of young ladies who have been, as you say, _very_ well brought up; and yet I am not sure that on the whole I don't think them the more innocent. Miss Mavis is engaged, and she's to be married next week, but it's an old, old story, and there's no more romance in it than if she were going to be photographed. So her usual life goes on, and her usual life consists (and that of ces demoiselles in general) in having plenty of gentlemen's society. Having it I mean without having any harm from it.' 'Well, if there is no harm from it what are you talking about and why am I immoral?' I hesitated, laughing. 'I retract--you are sane and clear. I am sure she thinks there won't be any harm,' I added. 'That's the great point.' 'The great point?' 'I mean, to be settled.' 'Mercy, we are not trying them! How can _we_ settle it?' 'I mean of course in our minds. There will be nothing more interesting for the next ten days for our minds to exercise themselves upon.' 'They will get very tired of it,' said Mrs. Nettlepoint. 'No, no, because the interest will increase and the plot will thicken. It can't help it.' She looked at me as if she thought me slightly Mephistophelean, and I went on--'So she told you everything in her life was dreary?' 'Not everything but most things. And she didn't tell me so much as I guessed it. She'll tell me more the next time. She will behave properly now about coming in to see me; I told her she ought to.' 'I am glad of that,' I said. 'Keep her with you as much as possible.' 'I don't follow you much,' Mrs. Nettlepoint replied, 'but so far as I do I don't think your remarks are in very good taste.' 'I'm too excited, I lose my head, cold-blooded as you think me. Doesn't she like Mr. Porterfield?' 'Yes, that's the worst of it.' 'The worst of it?'