"O but, mother, he did seem—" I began, and stopped. "Did seem what?" says she. "Did seem to think he liked you too? Is that all?" I wouldn't speak, for I remembered how I'd promised not to tell. "There's a deal of 'seeming,'" said she. "Seeming this and seeming that! A few honest-spoken words would be worth a lot more than all the seeming. Kitty, did he ever tell you he loved you?" "Not—not exactly," I whispered. "No, not exactly, I'll be bound," says she. "Just enough to win a silly girl's heart, and just little enough to leave himself free! I know the ways of that sort." And wasn't it true? "But I'm sure he did mean—" I began, and stopped again. "Did mean what?" said she. "He did call me 'his own little Kitty,'" I whispered, in a shamefaced way. Mother's questioning put my promise out of my head again. I was getting to feel all in a whirl. "And you let him!" said she. I shan't soon forget the quiet tone, and the contempt of it. "You let him call you that, before even he'd asked if you would marry him!" says mother. "I thought—he seemed—" I whispered. "There you are again, with your thinking and seeming," said she. "Nothing open nor aboveboard." "He did say—something," I muttered. "He did say something—something about—he hoped some day—and if he was to ask me—" "If he was to ask you what?" says she. But I didn't go on. "If he was to ask you to marry him?" says she. "But he didn't ask you! That's the last thing you said. Whichever am I to believe?" "He didn't ask me to marry him—really—truly —mother," I answered. "He only said something about—he'd like some day—and—and if he was to ask me—would I—" And then I fell into a fright. "O I oughtn't to have said so much. I promised him I wouldn't." "That's a nice state of things," says she. "A man making you an offer, and you not to tell your own mother!" "Only not just yet," I pleaded. "And it wasn't—that—it wasn't truly, mother. He didn't ask—that! He only said—if he was to ask—by-and-by—" "Piece of impertinence!" said she. "Mother! you don't understand, and I can't make you," I said. "I understand part," says she; "and that is, he took precious good care to keep himself free. 'If he was to ask you,' indeed! Impertinence!" says she again, and I don't know as I'd ever before seen mother so hot. "Catch a man in my young days," says she, "asking if I'd hold myself ready to say 'yes,' the moment he chose to ask me— if so be he ever did ask! I'm in doubt whether to be most amazed at him or at you, Kitty," says she. "I oughtn't to have told; I promised him I wouldn't. Mother! Don't tell father," I begged. She sat looking at me in a sort of wonder. "Asking me not to tell father!" says she. "Kitty, are you crazy? or d'you suppose I'm crazy?"