"I don't intend to pass my days uselessly," she answered.
"But some regular plan—Indeed, I assure you, it is really necessary for young girls. Dear aunt always said—"
Evelyn's involuntary movement was like that of a high-mettled horse, akin to a shake of the mane, with a backward step, as if in retreat.
"Wait a moment. Pray do not be so impatient, Evelyn. It is necessary that I should sometimes speak; and you ought not to be annoyed. It is—" plaintively, "only for your good."
"Well?" in a questioning tone.
"There is one thing I must mention. I am sorry, but it is my positive duty to—otherwise I would—If I am not misinformed, you went yesterday—I have reason to believe that you were at the Rectory—that you called there."
"Yes."
"It was not necessary—so soon. Only last week, and again yesterday! I thought had made this clear to you, but I seem to have failed. I must speak more plainly. I do not wish to complain, but, once for all, pray remember that I object to any intimacy in that direction. I have said this before, and it seems to have had no effect. You must please to recollect. An occasional call is all very well, but not oftener than is necessary."
"Why not?"
"We have never been intimate with the Trevelyans, and I do not intend to be. I could not allow it. Dear aunt very much disapproved of certain things—of Mr. Trevelyan's opinions, and—Pray listen to me, Evelyn. You need not look so impatient. He holds most erroneous views about—and at one time dear aunt found him most unpleasant—"