Mrs. Salisbury had risen to a sitting position; her eyes, fixed upon her daughter’s face, were filled with utter horror.

“You are not serious, my child!” she gasped.  “Alexandra, tell me that this is some monstrous joke—­”

“Serious!  I never was more serious in my life,” the girl said stoutly.  “I said just that.  It was easy enough, after I once got started.  And I thought to myself, even then, that if he didn’t care he’d be decent enough to say so honestly—­”

“But, my child—­my child!” the mother said, beside herself with outraged pride.  “You cannot mean that you so far forgot a woman’s natural delicacy—­her natural shrinking—­her dignity—­Why, what must Owen think of you!  Can’t you see what a dreadful thing you’ve done, dear!” Her mind, working desperately for an escape from the unbearable situation, seized upon a possible explanation.  “My darling,” she said, “you must try at once to convince him that you were only joking—­you can say half-laughingly—­”

“But wait!” Alexandra interrupted, unruffled.  “He put his hand over mine, and he turned as red as a beet—­I wish you could have seen his face, Mother!—­and he said—­But,” and the happy color flooded her face, “I honestly can’t tell you what he said, Mother,” Alexandra confessed.  “Only it was darling, and he is honestly the best man I ever saw in my life!”

“But, dearest, dearest,” her mother said, with desperate appeal.  “Don’t you see that you can’t possibly allow things to remain this way?  Your dignity, dear, the most precious thing a girl has, you’ve simply thrown it to the winds!  Do you want Owen to remind you some day that you were the one to speak first?” Her voice sank distressfully, a shamed red burned in her cheeks.  “Do you want Owen to be able to say that you cared, and admitted that you cared, before he did?”

Alexandra, staring blankly at her mother, now burst into a gay laugh.

“Oh, Mother, aren’t you darling—­but you’re so funny!” she said.  “Don’t you suppose I know Owen well enough to know whether he cares for me or not?  He doesn’t know it himself, that’s the whole point, or rather he didn’t, for he does now!  And he’ll go on caring more and more every minute, you’ll see!  He might have been months finding it out, even if he didn’t go off to New York with Jim, and marry some little designing dolly-mop of an actress, or some girl he met on the train.  Owen’s the sort of dear, big, old, blundering fellow that you have to protect, Mother.  And it came up so naturally—­if you’d been there—­”

“I thank Heaven I was not there!” Mrs. Salisbury said feelingly.  “Came up naturally!  Alexandra, what are you made of?  Where are your natural feelings?  Why, do you realize that your Grandmother Porter kept your grandfather waiting three months for an answer, even?  She lived to be an old, old lady, and she used to say that a woman ought never let her husband know how much she cared for him, and Grandfather Porter respected and admired your grandmother until the day of her death!”