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“Where are you going?” she said to Jane, who came down stairs dressed to go out, one morning.

“Mary and I are going to make some calls,” she replied.

“You were out making calls, yesterday, with Mary, and the day before also. This is too great a waste of time, Jane. I would rather see you at home more.”

“I don’t know why you should wish to confine me down to the house. Mary Halloran goes and comes when she pleases.”

“Mary Halloran is in the street a great deal too much. I am far from wishing to see you imitate her example.”

“But what harm is there in it, mother?”

“A great deal, Jane. It gives idle habits, and makes the mind dissatisfied with the more sober duties of life.”

“I am too young for the sober duties of life,” said Jane, rather pertly.

“That is, doubtless, one of your friend Mary’s sentiments; and it is worthy of her.”

This was true, and Jane did not deny it.

“Go now,” said Mrs. Leland, with much sobriety of manner. “But remember that I disapprove of this gadding about, and object to its continuance. I should be very sorry to have your father know to what extent you are carrying it.”

Jane went out and called for Mary, and the two young ladies made a few calls, and then walked the streets until dinner time; not, however, alone, but accompanied by a dashing young fellow, who had been introduced to Mary a few evenings before, and now made bold to follow up the acquaintance, encouraged by a glance from the young lady’s bright, inviting eyes.

Mrs. Leland, in the mean time, felt unhappy. Her daughter was changing, and the change troubled her. The intimacy formed with Mary Halloran, it was clear, was doing her no good, but harm. By this time, too, she had noticed some things in the mother that were by no means to her taste. There was a coarseness, vulgarity and want of delicacy about her, that showed itself more and more every day, traits of character particularly offensive to Mrs. Leland, who was a woman of refined sentiments. Besides, Mrs. Halloran’s conversation involved topics neither interesting nor instructing to her neighbors; and often of a decidedly objectionable kind. In fact, she liked her less and less every day, and felt her too frequently repeated visits as an annoyance; and though “Why don’t you come in to see me oftener?” was repeated almost daily, she did not return more than one out of every half dozen calls she received.

“I’ve seen Jane in the street with that Mary Halloran no less than three times this week,” said Mr. Leland, one day, “and on two of these occasions there was a beau accompanying each of the young ladies.”

“She goes out too often, I know,” returned Mrs. Leland seriously. “I have objected to it several times, but the girl’s head seems turned with that Mary Halloran. I do wish she had never known her.”

“So do I, from my heart. We knew what she was, and never should have permitted Jane to make her acquaintance, if it had been in our power to prevent it.”

“It is too late now, and can’t be helped.”

“Too late to prevent the acquaintance, but not too late to prevent some of the evil consequences likely to grow out of such an improper intimacy, which must cease from the present time.”

“It will be a difficult matter to break it off now.”

“No matter how difficult it may be, it must be done. The first step toward it you will have to make, in being less intimate with the mother, whom I like less and less the oftener I meet her.”

“That step, so far as I am concerned, has already been taken. I have ceased visiting Mrs. Halloran almost entirely; but she is here just as often, and sadly annoys me. I dislike her more and more every day.”

“If I saw as much in any one to object to as you see in Mrs. Halloran, I would soon make visiting a thing by no means agreeable. You can easily get rid of her intrusive familiarity if you think proper.”