Nina murmured a confidence.

"What did you say?" Blondin said. "But come," he added, frankly,
"you're not afraid of me, are you? My dear little girl, I'm old
enough to be your father! Look up--I want to see those eyes.
That's better. Now, that's more friendly. Tell me what you said?"

"I said--that Mother expected me to--to like them."

"To--? Oh, to like the boys. Mother expects it? Of course she
does! And some day she'll expect to dress you in white, and bid us
all to come and dance at the wedding! But in the meantime, Mother
mustn't blame someone who has just a LITTLE more discernment than-
-well, young Brevoort, for example, for seeing that her tame dove
is really a wild little sea-gull starving for the sea. Now, look
here, Miss Nina, you hate all this society nonsense, don't you?"

"Loathe it!" Nina stammered, with a little excited laugh.

"Loathe it? Of course you do! Of course you do! And you don't want
to fall in love with one of these lads for a year or two, anyway?"

"Oh, my, no!" Nina felt the expression inadequate, but her breath
had been taken away. The man had turned about a little, his eyes
were all for her, and his arm, laid carelessly along the back of
the green bench, almost touched the white ruffles. They were in
full sight of the house, too, and if Lettice or Anna came back,
they would see Nina in deep and lasting conversation with the man
that all the older women were so mad about--