"I had a little story to tell you, my dear; and I wanted to make sure that I should do no harm in telling it. What is there so dreadful in such a question?"
But Eleanor only brushed away a hot tear from her flushed face and went on with her sewing. Or essayed to do it, for Mrs. Caxton thought her vision seemed to be not very clear.
"What made you think so that time, Eleanor? and what is the matter, my dear?"
"It hurts me, aunt Caxton, the question. You know we were friends, and I liked him very much, as I had reason; but I never had cause to fancy that he thought anything of me—only once I fancied it without cause."
"On what occasion, my love?"
"It was only a little thing—a nothing—a chance word. I saw immediately that I was mistaken."
"Did the thought displease you?"
"Aunt Caxton, why should you bring up such a thing now?" said Eleanor in very great distress.
"Did it displease you, Eleanor?"
"No aunty"—said the girl; and her head dropped in her hands then.