"You have n't an idea whether he 's been actually tracking you?"
"If he has, he must have employed detectives, and clever ones, too," I said, defending my own strategy.
"Is he the sort of man who would do such a thing—put detectives on a girl who 's run away from home to get rid of his attentions?"
"I don't know. I only know he has no idea of being a gentleman. What can you expect of Corn Plasters?"
"Don't throw his corn plasters in his face. He might be a good fellow in spite of them."
"Well, he isn't—or with them, either. He may be acting with my cousin's husband, who values him immensely, and wants him in the family."
"Is he very rich?"
"Disgustingly," said I, as I had said to Lady Kilmarny.
"Yet you bolted from a good home, where you had every comfort, rather than be pestered to marry him?"
"Oh, what do you call a 'good home,' and 'every comfort'? I had enough to eat and drink, a sunny room, decent clothes, and was n't allowed to work except for Cousin Catherine. But that is n't my idea of goodness and comfort."
"Nor mine either."
"Yet you seem surprised at me."
"I was thinking that, little and fragile as you look—like a delicate piece of Dresden china—you 're a brave girl."
"Oh, thank you!" I cried. "I do love to be called 'brave' better than anything, because I 'm really such a coward. You don't think I've done wrong?"
