"Fenie! Fenie, dear!" interrupted Trif, scarcely able to control her voice and not daring to lift her eyes from the work which she had resumed. "Whatever you like to talk about, you know I like to hear about. Aren't you my only sister, and my----" "I didn't suppose that I talked much about Harry Trewman," said Fenie, making a pretense of sewing industriously. "You mean nothing but what is entirely right, dear girl." "Then why do you object to that innocent child hearing what I say? I'm sure that I say nothing which any one might not listen to--do I?" "Certainly not; still, don't you remember what happened a night or two ago, dear, through a certain child hearing something and repeating it?" "Yes, but--" here Fenie looked cautiously toward Trixy, who was reading, with an air of utter absorption--"but I'm not likely to speak so foolishly again. Trif, do let me take the cotton from that child's ears. It is making her uncomfortable. See. She is rubbing one of her ears now." "She is sensible enough to complain when it really hurts. You don't imagine that her mother will let her suffer, do you?" "No, but--well as I was saying, I don't really talk much about Harry Trewman, do I?" Trif looked up so intently and roguishly that Fenie blushed deeply, and the blush remained while Trif said softly: "Really, dear, you don't talk much about anything else." "I don't see how you can say that," replied Fenie with uncertain voice, "when you know that I don't care anything--or not much, for him or about him. I don't suppose I would have spoken his name a single time this week if he hadn't come here last week, and if Trixy hadn't made that dreadful blunder. You certainly don't think me in love with him, I hope?" "I hope not, dear. There are many gradations of feeling that a true woman must go through before she can say honestly that she is in love. But you--well, you like him a little better than you like any other of your admirers, don't you?" "Ye--es, I suppose I do," replied Fenie, her voice not entirely under control. "He is gentlemanly, and honest-looking, and never brings the odor of liquor or tobacco with him. He doesn't make silly attempts at flattery, and he talks a great deal about his sisters, who are very nice girls, and he knows when to go home, instead of dawdling here until midnight, and we like the same books and pictures, so----" "And so he is a pleasant acquaintance to have--too pleasant to lose entirely?" "Yes, indeed, and if it hadn't been for that dreadful child--there, Trif, she's rubbing that ear again. I'm sure she's in pain. Do let me remove that ridiculous cotton." "Tut, tut. Go on. You were saying----"