"Men don't go about nowadays trying to break girls' hearts. But very good men can be thoughtless and selfish."
"Yes; I understand that," said Imogene, in a falling accent.
"I don't wish to prejudice you against any one. I should consider it very wrong and wicked. Besides, I don't care to interfere with you to that degree. You are old enough to see and judge for yourself."
Imogene sat silent, passing her hand across the front of her dress. The clock ticked audibly from the mantel.
"I will not have it left to me!" cried Mrs. Bowen. "It is hard enough, at any rate. Do you think I like to speak to you?"
"No."
"Of course it makes me seem inhospitable, and distrustful, and detestable."
"I never thought of accusing you," said the girl, slowly lifting her eyes.
"I will never, never speak to you of it again," said Mrs. Bowen, "and from this time forth I insist upon your feeling just as free as if I hadn't spoken." She trembled upon the verge of a sob, from which she repelled herself.
Imogene sat still, with a sort of serious, bewildered look.