"No. He certainly wasn't that in her case." "Undecided?" "He was decided enough with her--at last." Imogene dropped the hopeless quest, "How can a man ever stand such a thing?" she sighed. "He stood it very nobly. That was the best thing about it; he took it in the most delicate way. She showed me his letter. There wasn't a word or a hint of reproach in it; he seemed to be anxious about nothing but her feeling badly for him. Of course he couldn't help showing that he was mortified for having pursued her with attentions that were disagreeable to her; but that was delicate too. Yes, it was a very large-minded letter." "It was shocking in her to show it." "It wasn't very nice. But it was a letter that any girl might have been proud to show." "Oh, she _couldn't_ have done it to gratify her vanity!" "Girls are very queer, my dear," said Mrs. Bowen, as if the fact were an abstraction. She mused upon the flat of her screen, while Miss Graham plied her needle in silence. The latter spoke first. "Do you think he was very much broken by it?" "You never can tell. He went out west then, and there he has stayed ever since. I suppose his life would have been very different if nothing of the kind had happened. He had a great deal of talent. I always thought I should hear of him in some way." "Well, it was a heartless, shameless thing! I don't see how you can speak of it so leniently as you do, Mrs. Bowen. It makes all sorts of coquetry and flirtation more detestable to me than ever. Why, it has ruined his life!" "Oh, he was young enough then to outlive it. After all, they were a boy and girl." "A boy and girl! How old were they?" "He must have been twenty-three or four, and she was twenty." "My age! Do you call that being a girl?" "She was old enough to know what she was about," said Mrs. Bowen justly. Imogene fell back in her chair, drawing out her needle the full length of its thread, and then letting her hand fall. "I don't know. It seems as if I never should be grown up, or anything but a child. Yes, when I think of the way young men talk, they do seem boys. Why can't they talk like Mr. Colville? I wish I could talk like him. It makes you forget how old and plain he is." She remained with her eyelids dropped in an absent survey of her sewing, while Mrs. Bowen regarded her with a look of vexation, impatience, resentment, on the last refinement of these emotions, which she banished from her face before Miss Graham looked up and said, with a smile "How funny it is to see Effie's infatuation with him! She can't take her eyes off him for a moment, and she follows him round the room so as not to lose a word he is saying. It was heroic of her to go to bed without a murmur before he left to-night." "Yes, she sees that he is good," said Mrs. Bowen. "Oh, she sees that he's something very much more. Mr. Waters is good." Miss Graham had the best of the argument, and so Mrs. Bowen did not reply.