I can remember how mother looked, sitting still sideways towards me, her fingers stitching on and on steady as a machine, and her eyes never lifting themselves. She had such a quietness in her face, as if she was waiting and expecting something. It must have been near two hours that we kept like that, both of us working, and not saying a word. But at last I couldn't bear myself any longer. I was aching all over, and restlessness wouldn't be held down. I dropped the table-cloth I was mending, and leant back in my chair. Mother looked up then slowly, and fixed her eyes on me, like one coming out of a dream. She didn't ask if I was poorly, nor say I'd better go for a run, as was her way commonly; but she seemed to be trying to find out something; and all at once she said— "Kitty, have you promised Mr. Russell to be his wife some day?" "No, mother," I said, getting as red as fire. "He has asked you, I suppose?" said she. "No, mother," I said. Mother gazed at me still, and sighed. "It's not much use putting questions," said she. "How am I to know it's truth you tell me?" "Oh, but—" I said. "I wouldn't—" "You wouldn't tell more fibs than happens to be convenient," said she; and I hadn't often heard harder words from mother. "No, I dare say not," says she. "But you see I mightn't know when it was convenient." "Mother, I wish you wouldn't talk so," I said, feeling wretched. "I dare say," says she. "And I wish I had a child again that I could believe in. I could have stood anything better than that—anything, I do think," said she. "It's like losing my Kitty that I've always trusted, and having somebody else instead." "I'll never tell a story again," I said earnestly. "Never! I won't really." "No," said she, sorrowful-like. "You don't mean to—maybe." And I saw she hadn't a grain of confidence in me. Was it any wonder? "You say Mr. Russell never asked you to marry him. Then what did go on between you two?" said she. "If you are minded to begin speaking the truth, tell me all out plain now." She looked so anxious, leaving her work, and waiting to hear. And I was all in confusion, not knowing what I might or mightn't say. Perhaps I ought rather to put it, that I was puzzled between my wish to please mother and not to say a word that Mr. Russell could mind. "He was—so good to me," I whispered. "How?" said she. "He was—kind," I said. "That won't do, Kitty. I must hear more, if I hear anything," said she. "Did he ever ask you to marry him?" "No," I said; and that was true. "He only—" "Well? He only—what?" said she. "He only seemed—to think—to think—I liked him," said I, stumbling. "That's truth, I don't doubt," said she; and she repeated the words: "Only seemed to think you liked him! I'd like to have seen the man, when I was a girl, who'd have dared to seem to think I liked him, before he'd made it pretty plain how much he liked me! But I don't know what's come over the girls nowadays. They haven't a scrap of self-respect."