Mrs. Yorke gasped.

“Well, I must say, you seem to have learned your lesson!” she exclaimed.

Alice had been swept on by her memory not only of the words she was repeating, but of many conversations and interchanges of thought Gordon Keith and she had had during the past weeks, in which he had given her new ideas.  She began now, in a rather low and unsteady voice, her hands tightly clasped, her eyes in her lap: 

“Mamma, I believe I like him very much—­better than I shall ever—­”

“Nonsense, Alice!  Now, I will not have any of this nonsense.  I bring you down here for your health, and you take up with a perfectly obscure young countryman about whom you know nothing in the world, and—­”

“I know all about him, mamma.  I know he is a gentleman.  His grandfather—­”

“You know nothing about him,” asserted Mrs. Yorke, rising.  “You may be married to a man for years and know very little of him.  How can you know about this boy?  You will go back and forget all about him in a week.”

“I shall never forget him, mamma,” said Alice, in a low tone, thinking of the numerous promises she had made to the same effect within the past few days.

“Fiddlesticks!  How often have you said that?  A half-dozen times at least.  There’s Norman and Ferdy Wickersham and—­”

“I have not forgotten them,” said Alice, a little impressed by her mother’s argument.

“Of course, you have not.  I don’t think it’s right, Alice, for you to be so—­susceptible and shallow.  At least once every three months I have to go through this same thing.  There’s Ferdy Wickersham—­handsome, elegant manners, very ri—­with fine prospects every way, devoted to you for ever so long.  I don’t care for his mother, but his people are now received everywhere.  Why—?”

“Mamma, I would not marry Ferdy Wickersham if he were the last man in—­to save his life—­not for ten millions of dollars.  And he does not care for me.”

“Why, he is perfectly devoted to you,” insisted Mrs. Yorke.

“Ferdy Wickersham is not perfectly devoted to any one except himself—­and never will be,” asserted Alice, vehemently.  “If he ever cared for any one it is Louise Caldwell.”

Mrs. Yorke shifted her ground.

“There’s Norman Wentworth?  One of the best—­”

“Ah!  I don’t love Norman.  I never could.  We are the best of friends, but I just like and respect him.”

“Respect is a very safe ground to marry on,” said Mrs. Yorke, decisively.  “Some people do not have even that when they marry.”

“Then I am sorry for them,” said Miss Alice.  “But when I marry, I want to love.  I think it would be a crime to marry a man you did not love.  God made us with a capacity to form ideals, and if we deliberately fall below them—­”

Mrs. Yorke burst out laughing.

“Oh, stuff!  That boy has filled your head with enough nonsense to last a lifetime.  I would not be such a parrot.  I want to finish my letter now.”