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.