Her eyes became serious.
“Well, I was a beast,” she said. “And now I’m a young lady.”
“Excuse me. The distinction may be without a difference.”
“And wasn’t I right then,” she cried, with a flush, “to question your gentle origin!”
“I daresay,” I said. “But I owe you no consideration for the question. It was none of your business; and I haven’t forgiven you for it, and never shall.”
She seemed to breathe a little quickly, as if distressed. Then she sat down in a chair, and crossed her legs, and bent forward to scrutinise me.
“Richard,” she said, “what a brown strong man you have grown into; and rather taking-looking, too! I was an odious little pig—there! but girls grow up, you know. I don’t remember my little past self with pleasure, I can tell you. Won’t you forgive me and be friends?”
“What have you come home for? To be married?”
“O! What a question!”
“The sooner the better, for me.”