“I detest all men—all young men,” replied Maisie irritably.
“But, my dear, you should be commonly civil. And he had been giving himself, for him, unusual trouble to entertain you.”
“Can he know about her? Oh, no, it is impossible,” she added to herself.
Miss Fforde closed her lips firmly. But in a moment or two she opened them again.
“Cousin Agnes,” she said, half smiling, “I am afraid you are quite mistaken. If I had not been what you call ‘commonly civil,’ would he have gone on talking to me? On the contrary, I am sadly afraid I was far too civil.”
“My dear child,” ejaculated her cousin, “what do you mean?”
“Oh,” said Maisie, “I don’t know. Never mind the silly things I say. I like being with you, Cousin Agnes, but I don’t like London. I am much happier at home in the country.”
“But, my dear child, when I saw you at home a few months ago you were looking forward with pleasure to coming. What has changed you? What has disappointed you?”
“I am not suited for anything but a quiet country life—that is all,” said Miss Fforde.
“But, then, Maisie, afterwards, you know, you will have to come to town and have a house of your own and all that sort of thing. It is necessary for you to see something of the world to prepare you for—”