“I don’t know. Perhaps not,” answered the young girl, doubtfully. “But it’s of no use, for I won’t. And as for telling him not to come—why, it’s rather natural, I think. It just makes the refusal a little more definite. I don’t like that way girls have of refusing a man once a month, and letting him come to see them for a whole season, and then marrying him after all. There’s something mean about it—and I don’t think much of the man who lets himself be treated in that way, either. If Mr. Wingfield is really all you say he is, he may not be just that kind, and he’ll understand and take his refusal like a gentleman, and not torment me any more. But it’s just as well to make sure.”
“Promise me that you’ll be kind to him, Katharine—”
“Kind? Oh, yes—I’ll be kind enough. I’ll be perfectly civil—”
“Well—what shall you say to him? That you like him, and hope to be good friends, but that you don’t feel—”
“Dear mother!” exclaimed Katharine, with perfect simplicity, “I’ve refused men before. I know how to do it.”
“Yes—of course—but Mr. Wingfield—”
“You’ve got Mr. Wingfield on the brain, mother!” She laughed a little scornfully. “One would think that you were his mother, and were begging me to be kind and nice and marry your son. I don’t understand you to-day. Meanwhile, he’s waiting.”
“One moment, child!” exclaimed Mrs. Lauderdale, laying her hand on Katharine’s as it went out towards the knob of the door. “You don’t know—there are particular—well, there are so many reasons why you shouldn’t be rough with him. Can’t you just say that you’re touched by his proposal and will think it over?”
“Certainly not!” cried Katharine, indignantly. “Why should I keep the poor man hanging on when I don’t mean to marry him—when I won’t—I’ve said it often enough, I’m sure. Why should I?”
“It would be so much easier for him, if you would—to please me, darling child,” continued Mrs. Lauderdale, in an almost imploring way, “just to please me! I don’t often ask you to do anything for me, do I, dear? And you’re not like Charlotte—we’ve always been such good friends, love. And now I ask you this one thing for myself. It isn’t much, I’m sure—just to say that you’ll think it over. Won’t you? I know you will—there’s a dear girl!”