"They want somebody there, badly; and I have made a beginning."

"A nice beginning!--almost killed yourself. Now, Lois, don't think about anything! Do you know, Mrs. Wishart says you are the handsomest girl she ever saw!"

"That's a mistake. I know several much handsomer."

"She tried to make Mr. Dillwyn say so too; and he wouldn't."

"Naturally."

"It was funny to hear them; she tried to drive him up to the point, and he wouldn't be driven; he said one clever thing after another, but always managed to give her no answer; till at last she pinned him with a point-blank question."

"What did he do then?"

"Said what you said; that he had seen women who would be called handsomer."

The conversation dropped here, for Lois made no reply, and Madge recollected she had talked enough.

CHAPTER XL.

ATTENTIONS.

It was days before Lois went down-stairs. She seemed indeed to be in no hurry. Her room was luxuriously comfortable; Madge tended her there, and Mrs. Wishart visited her; and Lois sat in her great easy-chair, and rested, and devoured the delicate meals that were brought her; and the colour began gently to come back to her face, in the imperceptible fashion in which a white Van Thol tulip takes on its hues of crimson.

She began to read a little; but she did not care to go down-stairs.

Madge told her everything that went on; who came, and what was said by one and another. Mr. Dillwyn's name was of very frequent occurrence.

"He's a real nice man!" said Madge enthusiastically.

"Madge, Madge, Madge!--you mustn't speak so," said Lois. "You must not say 'real nice.'"

"I don't, down-stairs," said Madge, laughing. "It was only to you. It is more expressive, Lois, sometimes, to speak wrong than to speak right."

"Do not speak so expressively, then."

"But I must, when I am speaking of Mr. Dillwyn. I never saw anybody so nice. He is teaching me to play chess, Lois, and it is such fun."

"It seems to me he comes here very often."

"He does; he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart's, and she is as glad to see him as I am."

"Don't be too glad, Madge. I do not like to hear you speak so."

"Why not?"

"It was one of the reasons why I did not want to accept Mrs. Barclay's invitation last winter, that I knew he would be visiting her constantly. I did not expect to see him _here_ much." Lois looked grave.

"What harm in seeing him, Lois? why shouldn't one have the pleasure?

For it is a pleasure; his talk is so bright, and his manner is so very kind and graceful; and _he_ is so kind. He is going to take me to drive again."

"You go to drive with Mrs. Wishart. Isn't that enough?"

"It isn't a quarter so pleasant," Madge said, laughing again. "Mr.

Dillwyn talks, something one likes to hear talked. Mrs. Wishart tells me about old families, and where they used to live, and where they live now; what do I care about old New York families! And Mr. Dillwyn lets _me_ talk. I never have anything whatever to say to Mrs. Wishart; she does it all."

"I would rather have you go driving with her, though."

"Why, Lois? That's ridiculous. I like to go with Mr. Dillwyn."

"Don't like it too well."

"How can I like it too well?"

"So much that you would miss it, when you do not have it any longer."

"Miss it!" said Madge, half angrily. "I might _miss_ it, as I might miss any pleasant thing; but I could stand that. I'm not a chicken just out of the egg. I have missed things before now, and it hasn't killed me."

"Don't think I am foolish, Madge. It isn't a question of how much you can stand. But the men like--like this one--are so pleasant with their graceful, smooth ways, that country girls like you and me might easily be drawn on, without knowing it, further than they want to go."

"He does not want to draw anybody on!" said Madge indignantly.

"That's the very thing. You might think--or I might think--that pleasant manner means something; and it don't mean anything."

"I don't want it to 'mean anything,' as you say; but what has our being country girls to do with it?"

"We are not accustomed to that sort of society, and so it makes, I suppose, more impression. And what might mean something to others, would not to us. From such men, I mean."

"What do you mean by 'such men'?" asked Madge, who was getting rather excited.

"Rich--fashionable--belonging to the great world, and having the ways of it. You know what Mr. Dillwyn is like. It is not what we have in Shainpuashuh."

"But, Lois!--what are you talking about? I don't care a red cent for all this, but I want to understand. You said such a manner would mean nothing to _us_."

"Yes."

"Why not to us, as well as anybody else?"

"Because we are n.o.bodies, Madge."

"What do you mean?" said the other hotly.

"Just that. It is quite true. You are n.o.body, and I am n.o.body. You see, if we were somebody, it would be different."

"If you think--I'll tell you what, Lois! I think you are fit to be the wife of the best man that lives and breathes."