"Don't—don't ask such questions, child!" Debby bent over her needle-work.
"Why not?" persisted Esther. "If I only had a young man when I grew up,
I should be proud of him. Yes, you're trying to turn your head away. I'm
sure you had. Was he nice like Lord Eversmonde or Captain Andrew
Sinclair? Why you're crying, Debby!"
"Don't be a little fool, Esther! A tiny fly has just flown into my eye—poor little thing! He hurts me and does himself no good."
"Let me see, Debby," said Esther. "Perhaps I shall be in time to save him."
"No, don't trouble."
"Don't be so cruel, Debby. You're as bad as Solomon, who pulls off flies' wings to see if they can fly without them."
"He's dead now. Go on with 'Lady Ann's Rival;' we've been wasting the whole afternoon talking. Take my advice, Esther, and don't stuff your head with ideas about young men. You're too young. Now, dear, I'm ready. Go on."
"Where was I? Oh yes. 'Lord Eversmonde folded the fair young form to his manly bosom and pressed kiss after kiss upon her ripe young lips, which responded passionately to his own. At last she recovered herself and cried reproachfully, Oh Sigismund, why do you persist in coming here, when the Duke forbids it?' Oh, do you know, Debby, father said the other day I oughtn't to come here?"
"Oh no, you must," cried Debby impulsively. "I couldn't part with you now."
"Father says people say you are not good," said Esther candidly.