knew what I think of you. And I'd tell you for twopence."
"I'm a poor man, gentle lady—won't you tell me for love?" His voice was soft and pleading beneath the laugh that stung her.
"Yes, I will tell you—for nothing," she cried. "You're a brute, and a hateful, interfering, disagreeable, impertinent old thing, and I only hope you'll have someone be as horrid to you as you've been to me, that's all!"
"I think I've had that already—quite as horrid," he said grimly. "This is not the moment for compliments—but you have great powers. You are brave, and I never met anyone who could be more 'horrid,' as you call it, in smaller compass, all with one little tiny adjective. My felicitations. You are clever. Come—don't be angry any more—I had to do it—you'll understand some day."
"You wouldn't like it yourself," she said, softening to something in his voice.
"I shouldn't have liked it at your age," he said; "sixteen—fifteen—what is it?"
"I'm nineteen next birthday," she said with dignity.
