“But you must, Alice. It's your duty. Of course I must know about it. What did he say?”
Alice walked up and down the room with her lips firmly closed—like Mavering's lips, it occurred to her; and then she opened them, but without speaking.
“What did he say?” persisted her mother, and her persistence had its effect.
“Say?” exclaimed the girl indignantly. “He tried to make me say.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Pasmer. “Well?”
“But I forced him to speak, and then—I rejected him. That's all.”
“Poor fellow!” said Mrs. Pasmer. “He was afraid of you.”
“And that's what made it the more odious. Do you think I wished him to be afraid of me? Would that be any pleasure? I should hate myself if I had to quell anybody into being unlike themselves.” She sat down for a moment, and then jumped up again, and went to the window, for no reason, and came back.
“Yes,” said her mother impartially, “he's light, and he's roundabout. He couldn't come straight at anything.”
“And would you have me accept such a—being?”