“Yes, since I was four. Now I’m seventeen.”
“And look every day of twenty or more,” he exclaimed with habitual brusquerie.
“Do I? And you,” considering him with cold, undaunted eyes, “I suppose are sixty—or more?”
Blagdon’s face assumed a deeper hue. His neck appeared to swell, an apoplectic seizure seemed imminent; he was not accustomed to be thus bearded.
However, for once, with a violent effort, he restrained himself, and answered:
“A fellow’s the age he feels—a woman the age she looks.”
“That’s rubbish!” declared his bold companion, “and was certainly invented by a man!”
“I say, young lady, you seem to have a fairly sharp tongue!”
“A sharp tongue and a sweet temper,” she retorted.
It was evident to her electrified and humbled parent, that the girl did not care a brass farthing whether he reinstated her or not! The saucy young woman was entirely independent, and made no secret of her attitude. The chances were, that if she had been appealing, eager, and slavish, he would not have been so anxious to claim her—but Cara had taken her father’s measure, with a very sure eye.