"Certainly not, my dear; you have no occasion."
"Then why should we be ashamed of it?" Lois persisted.
"My dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Do not think I mean that.
Only, people here would not understand it."
"How could they _mis_understand it?"
"You do not know the world, Lois. People have peculiar ways of looking at things; and they put their own interpretation on things; and of course they often make great blunders. And so it is just as well to keep your own private affairs to yourself, and not give them the opportunity of blundering."
Lois was silent a little while.
"You mean," she said then,—"you think, that some of these people I have been seeing here, would think less of me, if they knew how we do at home?"
"They might, my dear. People are just stupid enough for that."
"Then it seems to me I ought to let them know," Lois said, half laughing again. "I do not like to be taken for what I am not; and I do not want to have anybody's good opinion on false grounds." Her colour rose a bit at the same time.
"My dear, it is nobody's business. And anybody that once knew you would judge you for yourself, and not upon any adventitious circumstances. They cannot, in my opinion, think of you too highly."