"Oh but," said Ester, still in great confusion, "I didn't mean to confine my statement to gentlemen. I never hear anything of the sort from ladies."
"Not from that dear old friend of ours on the cars?"
"Oh yes; she was different from other people too. I thought she had a very queer way of speaking; but then she was old and ignorant. I don't suppose she knew how to talk about any thing else, and she is my one exception."
Mr. Foster glanced in the direction of the golden brown head that was still in eager debate at the other end of the room, before he asked his next question. "How is it with your cousin?"
"Oh she!" said Ester, brought suddenly and painfully back to all her troublesome thoughts—and then, after a moment's hesitation, taking a quick resolution to probe this matter to its foundation, if it had one. "Mr. Foster, don't you think she is very peculiar?"
At which question Mr. Foster laughed, then answered good humoredly:
"Do you think me a competent witness in that matter?"
"Yes," Ester answered gravely, too thoroughly in earnest to be amused now; "she is entirely different from any person that I ever saw in my life. She don't seem to think about any thing else—at least she thinks more about this matter than any other."
"And that is being peculiar?"
"Why I think so—unnatural, I mean—unlike other people."
"Well, let us see. Do you call it being peculiarly good or peculiarly bad?"