"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—"