“Fancies about what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. About falling in love.” Boyne blushed.
“Why do you want to know? You musn’t think about such things, a boy like you! It’s a great pity that you ever knew anything about that Bittridge business. It’s made you too bold. But it seems to have been meant to drag us down and humiliate us in every way.”
“Well, I didn’t try to know anything about it,” Boyne retorted.
“No, that’s true,” his mother did him the justice to recognize. “Well, what is it you want to know?” Boyne was too hurt to answer at once, and his mother had to coax him a little. She did it sweetly, and apologized to him for saying what she had said. After all, he was the youngest, and her baby still. Her words and caresses took effect at last, and he stammered out, “Is everybody so, or is it only the Kentons that seem to be always putting—well, their affections—where it’s perfectly useless?”
His mother pushed him from her. “Boyne, are you silly about that ridiculous old Miss Rasmith?”
“No!” Boyne shouted, savagely, “I’m NOT!”
“Who is it, then?”
“I sha’n’t tell you!” Boyne said, and tears of rage and shame came into his eyes.