"Which you seem marvelously well fitted to do."
"Thank you."
"In fact, it's one of the ways in which you betray yourself. An innocent girl—"
I strained forward in my chair. "Wouldn't it be fair for you to tell me what you mean by the word innocent?"
"I mean a girl who has no special ax to grind—"
I could hear my foot tapping on the floor, but I was too indignant to restrain myself. "Even that figure of speech leaves too much to the imagination."
He studied me again. "You're very sharp."
"Don't I need to be," I demanded, "with an enemy of your acumen?"
"But I'm not your enemy. It's what you don't seem to see. I'm your friend. I'm trying to keep you out of a situation that would kill you if you got into it."
I think I laughed. "Isn't death preferable to dishonor?" I saw my mistake in the quickness with which Mrs. Brokenshire looked up. "There are more kinds of dishonor than one," I explained, loftily, "and to me the blackest would be in allowing you to dictate to me."