from the house with a little basket on her arm.

"She'll go to market every morning," he thought to himself. "I shall see
her then."

Not the slightest glance of Stephen's eye ever escaped his mother's
notice.

"Ah! there goes the lady," she said. "I wonder if she is always going down
town at this hour? You will have to manage to go either earlier or later,
or else people will begin to talk about you."

Stephen White had one rule of conduct: when he was uncertain what to do,
not to do any thing. He broke it in this instance, and had reason to
regret it long. He spoke impulsively on the instant, and revealed to
mother his dawning interest in Mercy, and planted then and there an
ineffaceable germ of distrust in her mind.

"Now, mother," he said, "what's the use of you beginning to set up this
new worry? Mrs. Philbrick is a widow, and very sad and lonely. She is the
friend of my friend, Harley Allen; and I am in duty bound to show her some
attention, and help her if I can. She is also a bright, interesting
person; and I do not know so many such that I should turn my back on one
under my own roof. I have not so many social pleasures that I should give
up this one, just on account of a possible gossip about it."

Silence would have been wiser. Mrs. White did not speak for a moment or
two; then she said, in a slow and deliberate manner, as if reflecting on a
problem,--"You enjoy Mrs. Philbrick's society, then, do you, Stephen? How
much have you seen of her?"