Then suddenly recollecting herself, she stopped, and exclaimed, in much
confusion, "O please forgive me! That stupid thing has been running in
my head all day--and it is a way I have. I always forget people and
begin to sing."

She did not see in the least that her apology might have been
considered an adding of insult to injury, and, of course, I was careful
not to let her know that I thought it so, although I must confess that
for a moment I felt just a trifle aggrieved. I thought my presence had
bored her, and was surprised to see, when I got up to go, that she
would rather have had me stay.

She cared little for people in general, and had few likings. It was
love with her if anything; but those whom she loved once she loved
always, never changing in her affection for them, however badly they
might treat her. And she had the power of liking people for themselves,
regardless of their feeling for her; indeed, her indifference on this
score was curious. I once heard a lady say to her: "You are one of the
few young married ladies whom I dare chaperon in these degenerate days.
No degree of admiration or worship ever seems to touch you. Is it real
or pretended, your unconsciousness?"

"Unconsciousness of what?"

"Of the feeling you excite."

"The feeling _I_ excite?" Ideala seemed to think a moment; then she
answered gravely: "I do not think I am conscious of anything that
relates to myself, personally, in my intercourse with people. They are
ideas to me for the most part--men especially so."