."

"Well," said the mother, "may be you're right. I'll go down directly.
It does seem as if he did mean something, after all."

Mrs. Lapham did not hasten to return to her guest. In her own girlhood
it was supposed that if a young man seemed to be coming to see a girl,
it was only common-sense to suppose that he wished to see her alone;
and her life in town had left Mrs. Lapham's simple traditions in this
respect unchanged. She did with her daughter as her mother would have
done with her.

Where Penelope sat with her book, she heard the continuous murmur of
voices below, and after a long interval she heard her mother descend.
She did not read the open book that lay in her lap, though she kept her
eyes fast on the print. Once she rose and almost shut the door, so
that she could scarcely hear; then she opened it wide again with a
self-disdainful air, and resolutely went back to her book, which again
she did not read. But she remained in her room till it was nearly time
for Corey to return to his boat.

When they were alone again, Irene made a feint of scolding her for
leaving her to entertain Mr. Corey.

"Why! didn't you have a pleasant call?" asked Penelope.

Irene threw her arms round her. "Oh, it was a SPLENDID call! I didn't
suppose I could make it go off so well. We talked nearly the whole
time about you!"

"I don't think THAT was a very interesting subject."

"He kept asking about you. He asked everything. You don't know how
much he thinks of you, Pen. O Pen! what do you think made him come?
Do you think he really did come to see how papa was?" Irene buried her
face in her sister's neck.

Penelope stood with her arms at her side, submitting. "Well," she
said, "I don't think he did, altogether."

Irene, all glowing, released her. "Don't you--don't you REALLY? O Pen!
don't you think he IS nice? Don't you think he's handsome? Don't you
think I behaved horridly when we first met him this evening, not
thanking him for coming? I know he thinks I've no manners. But it
seemed as if it would be thanking him for coming to see me. Ought I to
have asked him to come again, when he said good-night? I didn't; I
couldn't. Do you believe he'll think I don't want him to? You don't
believe he would keep coming if he didn't--want to----"

"He hasn't kept coming a great deal, yet," suggested Penelope.

"No; I know he hasn't. But if he--if he should?"

"Then I should think he wanted to."

"Oh, would you-