“Of course,—_some_ girls; but not a girl brought up as you have been. Did he make no apology? Yes? Well, that was to his honor. He is a gentleman, there can be no doubt about that. And you?” Mary was lying at full length upon the lounge. “I forgave him,” said she, averting her face. “Ah, we can’t help that, my daughter. A woman would not be a woman unless”—and reminiscent lights and shadows flitted across her face—“unless she kept a soft place in her heart for every man who ever loved her. But forgiveness and love are different parts of speech.” No answer. “To pardon, I say, and to love, are different things,” repeated she; and her heart began to throb, she hardly knew why. “Sometimes,” said Mary, covering her face with her hands. CHAPTER LIX. It was not many minutes after this before Mrs. Rolfe found herself across the street and closeted with Alice. “I am too tired and nervous to talk now,” Mary had said; “wait till to-morrow; or, if you are very impatient, ask Alice to tell you. She knows all.” “My dear Alice,” asked Mrs. Rolfe, for the twentieth time, at the close of a two-hours’ investigation, “who _is_ this Mr. Don or Smith? Who is his father? Who is his mother? How am I to know that my daughter is not interested in an adventurer or an escaped lunatic?” Alice did her best to reassure Mrs. Rolfe on this point; adding, with a becoming little blush, that she did not rely upon her own judgment, solely,—that e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y was sure that the Don was all that he should be. “E-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y! Then why don’t you take him yourself? I suppose this same e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y objected!” “Oh!” That was all that this whilom merry babbler could say. Her chin (just as though it thought itself the most highly improper little chin in the world) tried to hide between her shoulder and her throat, nestling down somewhere. In those days we thought it was becoming,—that sudden rush of roses to a young girl’s cheek. Now she will look you straight in the face, and tell you without blinking that next spring she is to marry a man weighing (just as likely as not) two hundred pounds. It is straightforward, and manly, and “good form,”—but some of us can’t forget the old way, and like it still. “I must confess, Alice, that I can make nothing of the whole business. You tell me that Mary’s suitor is entirely devoted to her, and that every one has the highest respect for him. His incognito need not trouble me, you say, since its removal is only delayed,—and delayed, too, through some romantic whim or other of Mary herself. But there is one thing which nothing you say explains; that everything you say darkens; why is the poor child so wretched?” Alice was silent. “Alice,” continued Mrs. Rolfe, placing her hand affectionately on the young girl’s shoulder, “have you told me all? It is Mary’s express injunction that you do so, you know.” Alice seemed to have something to say, but hesitated.