how glad
I am that I never did!) But as to the letters, told her "to assure him
that I had not thought of them in that light, and had passed over the
expressions he referred to as idle words it would be ridiculous to take
offense at; and that my only reason for persevering in this silence had
been that Brother disapproved of my writing to gentlemen, and I had
promised that I would not write to him. That I had feared he would
misconstrue my silence, and had wished to explain it to him, but I had
no means of doing so except by breaking my promise; and so had
preferred leaving all explanation to time, and some future
opportunity."

"But you did not mean to pain him, did you?" the dear little creature
coaxingly lisped, standing on tiptoe to kiss me as she spoke. I assured
her that I had not. "He has been dangerously ill," she continued,
apologizingly, "and sickness has made him more morbid and more unhappy
about it than he would otherwise have been. It has distressed him a
great deal."

I felt awkwardly. How was it that this girl, meeting him for the first
and only time in her life, had contrived to learn so much that she had
no right to know, and appeared here as mediator between two who were
strangers to her, so far usurping a place she was not entitled to, as
to apologize to _me_ for his sensitiveness, and to entreat me to tell
him he had not forfeited my esteem, as though _she_ was his most
intimate friend, and I a passing acquaintance? Failing to comprehend
it, I deferred it to a leisure moment to think over, and in the mean
time exerted myself to be affable.

I can't say half she spoke of, but as she was going she said, "Then
will you give me permission to say as many sweet things for you as I
can think of? I'm going there to-morrow." I told her I would be afraid
to give her _carte blanche_ on such a subject; but that she would
really oblige me by explaining about the letters. She promised, and
after another kiss, and a few whispered words, left me.

Maybe she exaggerated, though! Uncharitable as the supposition was, it
was a consolation. I was unwilling to believe that any one who
professed to esteem me would make me the subject of conversation with a
stranger--and such a conversation! So my comfort was only in hoping
that she had related a combination of truth and fiction, and that he
had not been guilty of such folly.

Presently it grew clearer to me. I must be growing in wickedness, to
fathom that of others