th her, and upon the whole she judged it best
to tell her why, when the girl came to say good-night, and to announce
that her packing was finished.

"But what in the world are we in such a hurry for, mamma, all of a
sudden?"

"We are in a hurry because--don't you really know, Louise?--because in
the crazy atmosphere of this house, one loses the sense of--of
proportion--of differences."

"Aren't you rather--Emersonian, mamma?"

"Do you think so, my dear? Matt's queer notions infect everybody; I
don't blame _you_, particularly; and the simple life he makes people
lead--by leading it himself, more than anything else--makes you think
that you could keep on living just as simply if you wished, everywhere."

"It's very sweet--it's so restful," sighed the girl. "It makes you sick
of dinners and ashamed of dances."

"But you must go back to them; you must go back to the world you belong
to; and you'd better not carry any queer habits back with you."

"You _are_ rather sphinx-like, mamma! Such habits, for instance, as?"

"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.

"Yes, you are, my dear!" her mother retorted. "You know it wouldn't do
at all. It isn't a question of his poverty; your father has money
enough: it's a question of his social quality, and of