"Patty," interposed Elizabeth, surprised, "I am glad of Mr. Brion's kind help, if you are not."
"Patty," echoed Eleanor in an undertone, "that haughty spirit of yours will have a fall some day."
Patty felt that it was having a fall now. "I know it is very kind of Mr. Brion," she said tremulously, "but how are we to get on and do for ourselves if we are treated like children—I mean if we allow ourselves to hang on to other people? We should make our own way, as others have to do. I don't suppose you had anyone to lead you about when you first came to Melbourne"—addressing Paul.
"I was a man," he replied. "It is a man's business to take care of himself."
"Of course. And equally it is a woman's business to take care of herself—if she has no man in her family."
"Pardon me. In that case it is the business of all the men with whom she comes in contact to take care of her—each as he can."
"Oh, what nonsense! You talk as if we lived in the time of the Troubadours—as if you didn't know that all that stuff about women has had its day and been laughed out of existence long ago."
"What stuff?"
"That we are helpless imbeciles—a sort of angelic wax baby, good for nothing but to look pretty. As if we were not made of the same substance as you, with brains and hands—not so strong as yours, perhaps, but quite strong enough to rely upon when necessary. Oh!" exclaimed Patty, with a fierce gesture, "I do so hate that man's cant about women—I have no patience with it!"
"You must have been severely tried," murmured Paul (he was beginning to think the middle Miss King a disagreeable person, and to feel vindictive towards her). And Eleanor laughed cruelly, and said, "Oh, no, she's got it all out of books."