The words were spoken hurriedly and with a ring almost of hostility. At the same time the girl’s cheeks flushed. She felt herself hard beset. A network was being woven about her by hands she could not deem other than loving; it was time to exert herself that the meshes might not be completed, and the necessity cost her a feeling of shame. ‘But your brother’s friend, my dear. Surely you ought not to say that you have no interest in him at all.’ ‘I do say it, mother, and I wish to say it so plainly that you cannot after this mistake me. Alfred’s friends are very far from being necessarily my friends. Not only have I no interest in Mr. Mutimer, I even a little dislike him.’ ‘I had no idea of that, Adela,’ said her mother, rather blankly. ‘But it is the truth, and I feel I ought to have tried to make you understand that sooner. I thought you would see that I had no pleasure in speaking of him.’ ‘But how is it possible to dislike him? I confess that is very hard for me to understand. I am sure his behaviour to you is perfect--so entirely respectful, so gentlemanly.’ ‘No, mother, that is not quite the word to use. You are mistaken; Mr. Mutimer is _not_ a perfect gentleman.’ It was said with much decision, for to Adela’s mind this clenched her argument. Granted the absence of certain qualities which she held essential in a gentleman, there seemed to her no reason for another word on the subject. ‘Pray, when has he misbehaved himself?’ inquired her mother, with a touch of pique. ‘I cannot go into details. Mr. Mutimer has no doubt many excellent qualities; no doubt he is really an earnest and a well-meaning man. But if I am asked to say more than that, it must be the truth--as it seems to me. Please, mother dear, don’t ask me to talk about him in future. And there is something else I wish to say. I do hope you won’t be offended with me, but indeed I--I hope you will not ask me to go to the Manor again. I feel I ought not to go. It is painful; I suffer when I am there.’ ‘How strange you are to-day, Adela! Really, I think you might allow me to decide what is proper and what is not. My experience is surely the best judge. You are worse than unkind, Adela; it’s rude to speak to me like that.’ ‘Dear mother,’ said the girl, with infinite gentleness, ‘I am very, very sorry. How could I be unkind or rude to you? I didn’t for a moment mean that my judgment was better than yours; it is my feelings that I speak of. You won’t ask me to explain--to say more than that? You must understand me?’ ‘Oh yes, my dear, I understand you too well,’ was the stiff reply. ‘Of course I am old-fashioned, and I suppose old-fashioned people are a little coarse; _their_ feelings are not quite as fine as they might be. We will say no more for the present, Adela. I will do my best not to lead you into disagreeable situations through my lack of delicacy.’ There were tears in Adela’s eyes.