“Mama! When he goes there almost every——”
“Yes,” Mrs. Palmer said, dryly. “It seems to me I've heard somewhere that other young men have gone there 'almost every!' She doesn't last, apparently. Arthur's gallant, and he's impressionable—but he's fastidious, and fastidiousness is always the check on impressionableness. A girl belongs to her family, too—and this one does especially, it strikes me! Arthur's very sensible; he sees more than you'd think.”
Mildred looked at her hopefully. “Then you don't believe he's likely to imagine we said those things of her in any meaning way?”
At this, Mrs. Palmer laughed again. “There's one thing you seem not to have noticed, Mildred.”
“What's that?”
“It seems to have escaped your attention that he never said a word.”
“Mightn't that mean——?” Mildred began, but she stopped.
“No, it mightn't,” her mother replied, comprehending easily. “On the contrary, it might mean that instead of his feeling it too deeply to speak, he was getting a little illumination.”
Mildred rose and came to her. “WHY do you suppose he never told us he went there? Do you think he's—do you think he's pleased with her, and yet ashamed of it? WHY do you suppose he's never spoken of it?”
“Ah, that,” Mrs. Palmer said,—“that might possibly be her own doing. If it is, she's well paid by what your father and I said, because we wouldn't have said it if we'd known that Arthur——” She checked herself quickly. Looking over her daughter's shoulder, she saw the two gentlemen coming from the corridor toward the wide doorway of the room; and she greeted them cheerfully. “If you've finished with each other for a while,” she added, “Arthur may find it a relief to put his thoughts on something prettier than a trust company—and more fragrant.”