sorry!'

For Amy understood that it was imputed to her that she had been forward
and unmaidenly. Mrs. Edmonstone saw her extreme distress, and, grieved
at the pain she had inflicted, tried to reassure her as much as might be
safe.

'Indeed, my dear, you have done nothing amiss. I only intended to tell
you to be cautious for fear you should get into a way of going on which
might not look well. Don't make any great difference, I only meant that
there should not be quite so much singing and gardening alone with him,
or walking in the garden in the evening. You can manage to draw back a
little, so as to keep more with me or with Laura, and I think that will
be the best way.'

Every word, no matter what, increased the burning of poor Amy's cheeks.
A broad accusation of flirting would have been less distressing to many
girls than this mild and delicate warning was to one of such shrinking
modesty and maidenly feeling. She had a sort of consciousness that she
enjoyed partaking in his pursuits, and this made her sense of confusion
and shame overwhelming. What had she been thoughtlessly doing? She could
not speak, she could not look. Her mother put her arm round her, and Amy
hid her head on her shoulder, and held her fast. Mrs. Edmonstone kissed
and caressed the little fluttering bird, then saying, 'Good night, my
own dear child,' unloosed her embrace.

'Good night, dear mamma,' whispered Amy. 'I am very sorry.'

'You need not be sorry, my dear, only be careful. Good night.' And it
would be hard to say whether the mother or the daughter had the hottest
cheeks.

Poor little Amy! what was her dismay as she asked herself, again and
again, what she had been doing and what she was to do? The last was
plain,--she knew what was right, and do it she must. There would be an
end of much that was pleasant, and a fresh glow came over her as she
owned how very, very pleasant; but if it was not quite the thing,--if
mamma did not approve, so it must be. True, all her doings received
their zest from Guy,--her heart bounded at the very sound of his
whistle, she always heard his words through all the din of a whole
party,--nothing was complete without him, nothing good without his
without his approval,--but so much the more shame for her. It was a
kind of seeking him which was of all things the most shocking. So there
should be an end of it,--never mind the rest! Amy knelt down, and prayed
that she might keep her resolution.

She did not