"That makes no difference. I wish the whole thing stopped. I do not know what I have been thinking of to let it go on so long. Mrs. Gordon says—"
"Mrs. Gordon! Ha!" I burst out, "I knew Amelia was at the bottom of it! Amelia is in love with him up to her very ears, and because he does not entirely neglect me, she has put her mother up to coming here, meddling and making—"
"If what you say of Amelia is true, it is most ungenerous in you to tell of it. But I do not believe it. Amelia Gordon has too much good sense to be carried away by a handsome face and agreeable manners."
I began to cry.
"He likes me," I got out, "he likes me ever so much. Nobody ever was so kind to me before. Nobody ever said such nice things to me. And I don't want such horrid things said about him."
"Has it really come this!" said mother, quite shocked. "Oh, my poor child, how my selfish sorrow has made me neglect you."
I kept on crying.
"Is it possible," she went on, "that with your good sense, and the education you have had, you are captivated by this mere boy?"
"He is not a boy," I said. "He is a man. He is twenty years old; or at least he will be on the fifteenth of next October."
"The child actually keeps his birthdays!" cried mother. "Oh, my wicked, shameful carelessness."