"I think so myself," Lois returned quietly.
"And I am."
"I think you are, Madge. But that makes no difference. My dear, we are nobody."
"How?"—impatiently. "Isn't our family as respectable as anybody's?
Haven't we had governors and governors, of Massachusetts and
Connecticut both; and judges and ministers, ever so many, among our
ancestors? And didn't a half-dozen of 'em, or more, come over in the
'Mayflower'?"
"Yes, Madge; all true; and I am as glad of it as you are."
"Then you talk nonsense!"
"No, I don't," said Lois, sighing a little. "I have seen a little more of the world than you have, you know, dear Madge; not very much, but a little more than you; and I know what I am talking about. We are unknown, we are not rich, we have none of what they call 'connections.' So you see I do not want you to like too much a person who, beyond civility, and kindness perhaps, would never think of liking you."
"I don't want him to, that's one thing," said Madge. "But if all that is true, he is meaner than I think him; that's what I've got to say. And it is a mean state of society where all that can be true."
"I suppose it is human nature," said Lois.
"It's awfully mean human nature!"