Felicia would be impressed by my manner, and even a little frightened, and she would murmur:
“Yes?” expectantly, meekly.
“Felicia,” I was to continue, “I do not want you to think I am blaming you. I am blaming myself for letting things go so far, for not explaining things to you before; you are young, you do not understand the world.”
“That is true,” Felicia would reply with adorable meekness, as she lifted questioning eyes to mine. Then I was to sit down beside her and taking both her hands in mine:
“Dear,” I was to continue, “when a young girl has received as much attention as you have, it is natural for her to imagine that after she is married men can go on courting her as they did before. But this is not true. A man’s devotion, especially the devotion of an insolent, useless pup of a young ass like Saunders” (it slipped out in spite of ourselves, and we put the blue pencil through it, supplying “a fellow like Saunders”) “has a very different meaning when given to a young girl than to a young married woman. You do not dream this, I know. I have every confidence in you, dear, and I am speaking now purely to save you from an unpleasant scene as well as to stop malicious tongues.”
At this Felicia would keep silent, contemplating the abyss pointed out to her. Indeed, my words have so impressed her that my heart smites me, but better she should learn from me than in some other way.
“May a married woman have no friends then?” she cries at last.
“All she likes of friends,” I am to say with a touch of severity. “But she should take care not to make herself conspicuous with any one man. For you know, Felicia, you have been making yourself conspicuous. At the Jarvis week-end party you talked to no one else; last night you sat an hour in a secluded corner with him. You walk with him, and he sends you violets. I have no feeling about Saunders, of course. I merely see these things as the world sees them. Only I know how innocent you are, that you are accepting these attentions as simply as you would have before you were married, but, O Felicia, the world does not know that! Already they are putting you down as a married flirt; already they are wondering what I am about to let things go on so, and as for Saunders, his attentions to you are an insult.”
“You should have told me before,” Felicia murmurs. “You should have told me!”
Just then the maid would of course bring a card. Felicia would glance at it, her brows arch themselves with displeasure.