"Jenny is always there, and Amelia," I replied.
"That makes no difference. I wish the whole thing stopped. I do not
know what I have been thinking of to let it go on so long. Mrs.
Gordon says--"
"Mrs. Gordon! Ha!" I burst out, "I knew Amelia was at the bottom of
it! Amelia is in love with him up to her very ears, and because he
does not entirely neglect me, she has put her mother up to coming
here, meddling and making--"
"If what you say of Amelia is true, it is most ungenerous in you to
tell of it. But I do not believe it. Amelia Gordon has too much good
sense to be carried away by a handsome face and agreeable manners."
I began to cry.
"He likes me," I got out, "he likes me ever so much. Nobody ever was
so kind to me before. Nobody ever said such nice things to me. And I
don't want such horrid things said about him."
"Has it really come this!" said mother, quite shocked. "Oh, my poor
child, how my selfish sorrow has made me neglect you."
I kept on crying.
"Is it possible," she went on, "that with your good sense, and the
education you have had, you are captivated by this mere boy?"
"He is not a boy," I said. "He is a man. He is twenty years old; or
at least he will be on the fifteenth of next October."
"The child actually keeps his birthdays!" cried mother. "Oh, my
wicked, shameful carelessness."
"It's done now," I said, desperately.
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