“I’m not blaming you, Barbe. I’m only––”
“Thanks again. The day you’re not blaming me is certainly one to be marked with a white stone, as the 71 Romans used to say. But if it comes to blaming any one, Rash, after what happened yesterday––”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t begun by me. It would never have entered my mind to do the crazy thing I did, if you hadn’t positively and finally—as I thought—flung me down. I think you must do me that justice, Barbe—that justice, at the least.”
“Oh, I do you justice enough. I don’t see that you can complain of that. It seems to me too that I temper justice with mercy to a degree that—that most people find ridiculous.”
“By most people I suppose you mean your aunt.”
“Oh, do leave Aunt Marion out of it. You can’t forgive the poor thing for not liking you. Well, she doesn’t, and I can’t help it. She thinks you’re a––”
“A fool—as you were polite enough to say just now.”
She spread her hands apart in an attitude of protestation. “Well, if I did, Rash, surely you must admit that I had provocation.”
“Oh, of course. The wonder is that with the provocation you can––”
“Forgive you, and try to patch it up again after this frightful gash in the agreement. Well, it is a wonder. I don’t believe that many girls––”