"How often have I heard you call him a poor mean skunk?"
"Never, Crocker; never. Such a word never passed my lips."
"Something very like it then."
"I may have said he wanted sperrit. I may have said so, though I disremember it. But if I did,—what of that?"
"You despised him."
"No, Crocker. What I despise is a man as goes and tears up Her Majesty's Mail papers. Tribbledale never tore up anything at Pogson and Littlebird's,—except what was to be tore. Tribbledale was never turned out for nigh a fortnight, so that he couldn't go and show his face in King's Head Court. Tribbledale never made hisself hated by everybody." That unknown abominable word which Crocker had put into her mouth had roused all the woman within her, so that she was enabled to fight her battle with a courage which would not have come to her aid had he been more prudent.
"Who hates me?"
"Mr. Jerningham does, and Roden, and Sir Boreas, and Bobbin." She had learned all their names. "How can they help hating a man that tears up the mail papers! And I hate you."
"Clara!"
"I do. What business had you to say I used that nasty word? I never do use them words. I wouldn't even so much as look at a man who'd demean himself to put such words as them into my mouth. So I tell you what it is, Mr. Crocker; you may just go away. I am going to become Daniel Tribbledale's wife, and it isn't becoming in you to stand here talking to a young woman that is engaged to another young man."