"That is all very well, mother," continued Johanna unmoved. "But I don't think your arguments are sound if we find that Ephie is really sick, and needs a change."
"Arguments not sound! What big words you love to use, Joan! You let Ephie be. She grows prettier every day, and she's a favourite wherever she goes."
"That's another thing. Her head is being turned, and she will soon be quite spoilt. She begins to like the fuss and attention so well that——"
"You had your chances too, Joan. You needn't be jealous."
Johanna had heard this remark too often to be sensitive to it.
"When it comes to serious 'chances,' as you call them, no one will be more pleased for Ephie or more interested than I. But this is something different. You see that yourself, mother, I am sure. These young men who come about the house are so foolish, and immature, and they have such different ideas of things from ourselves. They think so... so"—Johanna hesitated for a word—"so laxly on earnest subjects. And it is telling on Ephie—Look, for instance, at Mr. Dove! I don't want to say anything against him, in particular. He is really more serious than the rest. But for some time now, he has been making himself ridiculous,"—Johanna had blushed for Dove on the occasion of his last visit. "No one could be more in earnest than he is; but Ephie only makes fun of him, in a heartless way. She won't see what a grave matter it is to him."
Mrs. Cayhill laughed, not at all displeased. "Young people will be young people. You can't put old heads on young shoulders, Joan, or shut them up in separate houses. Ephie is an extremely pretty girl, and it will be the same wherever we go.—As for young Dove, he knows well enough that nothing can come of it, and if he chooses to continue his attentions, why, he must take the consequences—that's all. Absurd!—a boy and girl flirtation, and to make so much of it! A mountain of a molehill, as usual. And half the time, you only imagine things, and don't see what is going on under your very nose. Anyone but you, I'm sure, would find more to object to in the way young Guest behaves than Dove."
"Maurice Guest?" said Johanna, and laid her hands with stocking and needle on the table.
"Yes, Maurice Guest," repeated Mrs. Cayhill, with complacent mockery. "Do you think no one has eyes but yourself?—No, Joan, you're not sharp enough. Just look at the way he went on last night! Every one but you could see what was the matter with him. Mrs. Tully told me about it afterwards. Why, he never took his eyes off her."
"Oh, I'm sure you are mistaken," said Johanna earnestly, and was silent from sheer surprise. "He has been here so seldom of late," she added after a pause, thinking aloud.