I felt there was something in that, and remained mute with consternation. "And do you think," she resumed, laughing softly, "he has been quite so slow to take the hint? Why, child, you have scarcely said a word that he has not modestly converted into a proof of your passion for him. Remember how sympathising he was on the evening of the party; he thought: 'Poor little thing! I must be kind. It is plain she is fretting herself away for my sake.'" She spoke with evident conviction. I remembered words and looks, and I grew hot and faint. "Oh, Mrs. Langton!" I exclaimed desperately, "what shall I do? how can I undeceive him?" "Leave the house at once," she promptly replied. "Will it not be better to stay for another day or so, just to be cool with him?" "He will think it shyness." "And despair if I run away. No, I must stay to undeceive him." "And to give him time to inform you in his civil, gentlemanly way, how deeply he feels for you." "Then I can show him I don't want his sympathy." "He will think it pride or pique. Take my advice, Miss Burns. You are in a false position. Retreat." She laid her hand on my arm and spoke impressively. But youth is rash; I scorned the idea of flight. Besides I had no faith in her advice. With the frank indignation of my years, I felt how meanly my candour and inexperience had been imposed upon. "So, Mrs. Brand," I thought resentfully, "you had me here, because you thought I might make a manageable sister-in-law! Much obliged to you, Mrs. Brand; you will have your dear Edith, yet. But to go and tell or imply to her brother that I was in love with him, with a man who might be my father! "Besides, even if it had been true, how barbarous to betray me! And you, too, Mrs. Langton," I thought, looking at her, "you too have not thought it beneath your pride to deceive me: talking ill to me of the very man you love--as much as you can love--accusing him of profligacy! Then, so piqued because I said he was middle-aged!--and so kindly anxious to make me look foolish by running away! Go! no indeed! It is very odd if I cannot finesse a little in my turn, and, without committing myself, get out of this spider's web into which, like a foolish fly, I have got entangled; and it is very odd, too, if I cannot change the web a little, before I spread out my wings and take my flight back to the home foolish flies should never leave."