"If I thought you were becoming interested in any one, it would be my duty to write to your mother and tell her." "Of course; I should expect you to do it." "And if I saw you becoming interested in any one in a way that I thought would make you unhappy, it would be my duty to warn you." "Yes." "Of course, I don't mean that any one would knowingly try to make you unhappy?" "No." "Men don't go about nowadays trying to break girls' hearts. But very good men can be thoughtless and selfish." "Yes; I understand that," said Imogene, in a falling accent. "I don't wish to prejudice you against any one. I should consider it very wrong and wicked. Besides, I don't care to interfere with you to that degree. You are old enough to see and judge for yourself." Imogene sat silent, passing her hand across the front of her dress. The clock ticked audibly from the mantel. "I will not have it left to me!" cried Mrs. Bowen. "It is hard enough, at any rate. Do you think I like to speak to you?" "No." "Of course it makes me seem inhospitable, and distrustful, and detestable." "I never thought of accusing you," said the girl, slowly lifting her eyes. "I will never, never speak to you of it again," said Mrs. Bowen, "and from this time forth I insist upon your feeling just as free as if I hadn't spoken." She trembled upon the verge of a sob, from which she repelled herself. Imogene sat still, with a sort of serious, bewildered look. "You shall have every proper opportunity of meeting any one you like." "Oh yes." "And I shall be only too gl-glad to take back everything!" Imogene sat motionless and silent. Mrs. Bowen broke out again with a sort of violence; the years teach us something of self-control, perhaps, but they weaken and unstring the nerves. In this opposition of silence to silence, the woman of the world was no match for the inexperienced girl. "Have you nothing to say, Imogene?" "I never thought of him in that way at all. I don't know what to say yet. It--confuses me. I--I can't imagine it. But if you think that he is trying to amuse himself----" "I never said that!" "No, I know it." "He likes to make you talk, and to talk with you. But he is perfectly idle here, and--there is too much difference, every way. The very good in him makes it the worse. I suppose that after talking with him every one else seems insipid." "Yes." Mrs. Bowen rose and ran suddenly from the room. Imogene remained sitting cold and still. No one had been named since they spoke of Mr. Morton. XI