"As Mr. Maxwell." The girl's face changed; her mother had touched the quick. She went on, looking steadily at her daughter, "You know he wouldn't do, there."
"No; he wouldn't," said Louise, promptly; so mournfully, though, that her mother's heart relented.
"I've seen that you've become interested in him, Louise; that your fancy is excited; he stimulates your curiosity. I don't wonder at it! He is very interesting. He makes you feel his power more than any other young man I've met. He charms your imagination even when he shocks your taste."
"Yes; all that," said Louise, desolately.
"But he does shock your taste?"
"Sometimes—not always."
"Often enough, though, to make the difference that I'm afraid you'll lose the sense of. Louise, I should be very sorry if I thought you were at all—in love with that young man!"
It seemed a question; Louise let her head droop, and answered with another. "How should I know? He hasn't asked me."
This vexed her mother. "Don't be trivial, don't be childish, my dear. You don't need to be asked, though I'm exceedingly glad he hasn't asked you, for now you can get away with a good conscience."
"I'm not sure yet that I want to get away," said the girl, dreamily.