Montague smiled. "Tastes are different," he said.

"But there must be some reason," protested Alice. "For she looks at
many things in the same way that you do. I told her I thought she
would be interested to talk to you."

"What did she say?" asked the other.

"She didn't say anything," answered Alice; and then suddenly she
turned to him. "I am sure you must know some reason. I wish you
would tell me."

"I don't know anything definite," Montague answered. "I have always
imagined it had to do with Mrs. Winnie."

"With Mrs. Winnie!" exclaimed Alice, in perplexing wonder.

"I suppose she heard gossip and believed it," he added.

"But that is a shame!" exclaimed the girl. "Why don't you tell her
the truth?"

"_I_ tell her?" laughed Montague. "I have no reason for telling her.
She doesn't care anything in particular about me."

He was silent for a moment or two. "I thought of it once or twice,"
he said. "For it made me rather angry at first. I saw myself going
up to her, and startling her with the statement, 'What you believe
about me is not true!' Then again, I thought I might write her a