"And have I deserved it? Because I seem to have got it," said Lily.
"Nonsense, Lily. I never snubbed you yet, and I don't think it likely that I shall begin. But you ought not to accuse me of not being civil to your friends. In the first place I am as civil to them as my nature will allow me to be. And, in the second place—"
"Well; in the second place—?"
"I am not quite sure that you are very wise to encourage that young man's—friendship just at present."
"That means, I suppose, that I am very wrong to do so?"
"No, dearest, it does not mean that. If I meant so I would tell you so honestly. I mean just what I say. There can, I suppose, be no doubt that he has filled himself with some kind of romantic attachment for you,—a foolish kind of love which I don't suppose he ever expected to gratify, but the idea of which lends a sort of grace to his life. When he meets some young woman fit to be his wife he will forget all about it, but till then he will go about fancying himself a despairing lover. And then such a young man as John Eames is very apt to talk of his fancies."
"I don't believe for a moment that he would mention my name to any one."
"But, Lily, perhaps I may know more of young men than you do."
"Yes, of course you do."
"And I can assure you that they are generally too well inclined to make free with the names of girls whom they think that they like. You must not be surprised if I am unwilling that any man should make free with your name."