“No-no.”

“When I got to thinking about some one else at fust it was only not thinking about him—­I was ashamed.  Then I tried to make out that I was too young in the fust place, to know whether I really ca’ed for any one in the right way; but after I made out that I was, I couldn’t feel exactly easy—­and I’ve been wanting to ask you, Miss Milray—­”

“Ask me anything you like, my dear!”

“Why, it’s only whether a person ought eva to change.”

“We change whether we ought, or not.  It isn’t a matter of duty, one way or another.”

“Yes, but ought we to stop caring for somebody, when perhaps we shouldn’t if somebody else hadn’t come between?  That is the question.”

“No,” Miss Milray retorted, “that isn’t at all the question.  The question is which you want and whether you could get him.  Whichever you want most it is right for you to have.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I do, indeed.  This is the one thing in life where one may choose safest what one likes best; I mean if there is nothing bad in the man himself.”

“I was afraid it would be wrong!  That was what I meant by wanting to be fai’a with Mr. Gregory when I told you about him there in Florence.  I don’t believe but what it had begun then.”

“What had begun?”

“About Mr. Hinkle.”

Miss Milray burst into a laugh.  “Clementina, you’re delicious!” The girl looked hurt, and Miss Milray asked seriously, “Why do you like Mr. Hinkle best—­if you do?”

Clementina sighed.  “Oh, I don’t know.  He’s so resting.”

“Then that settles it.  From first to last, what we poor women want is rest.  It would be a wicked thing for you to throw your life away on some one who would worry you out of it.  I don’t wish to say any thing against Mr. Gregory.  I dare say he is good—­and conscientious; but life is a struggle, at the best, and it’s your duty to take the best chance for resting.”

Clementina did not look altogether convinced, whether it was Miss Milray’s logic or her morality that failed to convince her.  She said, after a moment, “I should like to see Mr. Gregory again.”

“What good would that do?”

“Why, then I should know.”

“Know what?”

“Whether I didn’t really ca’e for him any more—­or so much.”

“Clementina,” said Miss Milray, “you mustn’t make me lose patience with you—­”

“No.  But I thought you said that it was my duty to do what I wished.”

“Well, yes.  That is what I said,” Miss Milray consented.  “But I supposed that you knew already.”

“No,” said Clementina, candidly, “I don’t believe I do.”

“And what if you don’t see him?”

“I guess I shall have to wait till I do.  The’e will be time enough.”

Miss Milray sighed, and then she laughed.  “You are young!”

XXXII.