“You need not tell me that.”
“Why?” she snapped.
“Because you meet a young man you are not engaged to, and walk miles with him through the lanes after sundown.”
“Well, I’m sure! Why mayn’t I have a friend if I choose?”
“It is entirely a matter of opinion; if I were in Tom’s shoes, Miss Dilly, and knew of this evening’s outing, I’d give you the chuck at once, and have nothing more to do with you.”
“Oh—you!”—insolently—“they say you’re a sort of half gentleman as has got into some trouble. Why don’t you mind your own affairs? Come now!”
“Tom is my friend and my affair.”
“Bah! a working man and a gentleman—friends! Go on!” and she stared at him defiantly.
“Yes, he is; and I won’t stand by and see his life spoiled, if I can help it.”
“Well, then,” and she burst into sudden tears, “it’s his mother as is spoiling it—not me.”