“Momma! You don’t know what these Eastern fellows are. There are so few of them that they’re used to having girls throw themselves at them, and they will think anything, ministers and all. You ought to talk to Ellen, and caution her. Of course, she isn’t like Lottie; but if Lottie’s been behaving her way with Mr. Breckon, he must suppose the rest of the family is like her.”
“Boyne,” said his mother, provisionally, “what sort of person is Mr. Breckon?”
“Well, I think he’s kind of frivolous.”
“Do you, Boyne?”
“I don’t suppose he means any harm by it, but I don’t like to see a minister laugh so much. I can’t hardly get him to talk seriously about anything. And I just know he makes fun of Lottie. I don’t mean that he always makes fun with me. He didn’t that night at the vaudeville, where I first saw him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? I told you about it last winter.”
“And was Mr. Breckon that gentleman?”
“Yes; but he didn’t know who I was when we met here.”
“Well, upon my word, Boyne, I think you might have told us before,” said his mother, in not very definite vexation. “Go along, now!”