"I am very lonesome, for one thing," said Louise, looking at her mother through suffused eyes. "I see so little of you. Perhaps I become moody. But I never mean, never meant, to say anything to hurt you, dear."
"But you see enough, if not too much, of—of others, Louise," put in her mother, slightly mollified. "You have been with Laura ever since early this morning?"
"Yes; with Laura—and another," replied Louise, unfailingly candid.
"Another?" said Mrs. Treharne, querulously. "Whom do you mean?"
"Mr. John Blythe," replied Louise, coloring.
"John Blythe?" said her mother, wonderingly. "You were with Laura and John Blythe? So that is the direction of the wind? Laura is trying to——" She broke off when she saw the expression of pain on her daughter's face.
"Please don't say that," said Louise, her face and forehead a vivid crimson. "I have often met Mr. Blythe at Laura's. I couldn't begin to tell you how I esteem him. And, mother, he is to be my guardian." She had meant to tell her mother that at a more fitting time; but, since Blythe's name had come up, she discerned that there could be no excuse for a postponement of the revelation.
Mrs. Treharne gazed at her daughter with mouth agape. When she finally spoke her words were almost inarticulate.
"Your guardian?" she gasped. "John Blythe is to be your guardian? At whose direction? Upon whose application?"
"My father's, mother."