"At your age? My dear Miss Hyde, am I to judge what it is by that smooth cheek, or by your words?"
"I am afraid it is best to be judged of by the slow growth of feelings such as we speak of," I replied, gravely.
She looked down sadly, and tears came trembling into her eyes. I really think she felt it. Her habits of fascination were such that she was doubtless wounded that they could fail even with so unimportant a person as I was.
"You are unkind, I would say unjust; only that feeling is seldom a matter of choice. But I, who was prepared to love you as the friend of dear Jessie, who did like you so much at the first sight, it does seem a little cruel that you should meet all this with repulsion."
Her tears made me uncomfortable; one had fallen to her cheek, and hung on its roses like a dew-drop. A man, I think, would have yielded to her then and there; a quiet person of her own sex was not likely to be so impressible. But her grief touched me, and feeling that there had been something of rudeness in my speech, I strove to soften it.
"Not repulsion, Mrs. Dennison, but we country people are a little on the reserve always. Do not think me unkind because I do not care to talk much of those who trust and shelter me."
She laid her hands on mine and smiled sweetly through her tears.
"You are right. It was all rash childishness, not curiosity; how could it be when dear Jessie tells me everything with her own sweet lips?"
I longed to draw my hand from under hers, but conquered the impulse, and seemed to listen with patience at least.
"But we will drop our sweet Jessie," she said, "and talk of some one else—Mr. Lawrence, for instance. Are you sure that he is not really poor?"