"And you," she said very slowly, when he had finished, "think you are able to despise womankind."
It was Mr. Fogo's turn to grow red.
"And to put up a board," she continued, "with that silly Notice upon it—you and that great baby Caleb Trotter—setting all women at naught, when you never ought to be beyond tether of their apron-strings. Why, only this morning you'd have caught a sun-stroke if I hadn't spread your umbrella over you."
"Did you do that?"
"And who else do you suppose? A man, perhaps? Why, there isn't a man in the world would have had the sense—'less it was Peter or Paul," she added, with a sudden softening of voice, "and they're women in everything but strength. And now," she went on, "as I am going that way, I suppose you'll want me to see you home. Will you walk in front or behind, for doubtless you're above walking beside a woman?"
"I think you are treating me very hardly."
"Maybe I am, and maybe I meant to. Maybe you didn't know that that Notice of yours might hurt people's feelings. Don't think I mean mine," she explained quickly and defiantly, "but Peter's and Paul's."
There was a pause as they walked along together.
"The board shall come down," said he; "and now may I carry your basket?"
"My basket? Do you think I'd trust a man to carry eggs?" She laughed, but with a trace of forgiveness.