might rest a while; we might pause. That is all my feeling—just to stop a little, to wait! I have seen so many changes. I wish to draw in, to draw in—to hold back, to hold back."
"You shouldn't hold your daughter back!" I answered, laughing and getting up. I got up, not by way of terminating our interview, for I perceived Mrs. Church's exposition of her views to be by no means complete, but in order to offer a chair to Miss Aurora, who at this moment drew near. She thanked me and remained standing, but without at first, as I noticed, meeting her mother's eye.
"You have been engaged with your new acquaintance, my dear?" this lady inquired.
"Yes, mamma dear," said the young girl, gently.
"Do you find her very edifying?"
Aurora was silent a moment; then she looked at her mother. "I don't know, mamma; she is very fresh."
I ventured to indulge in a respectful laugh. "Your mother has another word for that. But I must not," I added, "be crude."
"Ah, vous m'en voulez?" inquired Mrs. Church. And yet I can't pretend I said it in jest. I feel
