THE SACRED FOUNT
pressed me for explanations and driven me much harder than you must have seen I found convenient. If I've seemed to beat about the bush it's because I hadn't only myself to think of. One can be simple for one's self—one can't be, always, for others."
"Ah, to whom do you say it?" I encouragingly sighed; not even yet quite seeing for what issue she was heading.
She continued to make for the spot, whatever it was, with a certain majesty. "I should have preferred to tell you nothing more than what I have told you. I should have preferred to close our conversation on the simple announcement of my recovered sense of proportion. But you have, I see, got me in too deep."
"O-oh!" I courteously attenuated.
"You've made of me," she lucidly insisted, "too big a talker, too big a thinker, of nonsense."
"Thank you," I laughed, "for intimating that I trifle so agreeably."
"Oh, you've appeared not to mind! But let me then at last not fail of the luxury of admitting that I mind. Yes, I mind particularly. I may be bad, but I've a grain of gumption."
"'Bad'?" It seemed more closely to concern me.
"Bad I may be. In fact," she pursued at this high pitch and pressure, "there's no doubt whatever I am."
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