“I suppose you will never sacrifice yourself?” she asked challengingly.
“It ain’t time, yet, ma’am,” he returned, looking straight at her, his eyes narrowed, with little wrinkles in the corners. “I’m waitin’ for you to tell Masten that you don’t want to manage him.”
“We won’t talk about that, please,” she said coldly.
“Then we won’t, ma’am.”
She sat looking at him, trying to be coldly critical, but not succeeding very well. She was trying to show him that there was small hope of him ever realizing his desire to have her “manage” him, but she felt that she did not succeed in that very well either. Perplexity came into her eyes as she watched him.
“Why is it that you don’t like Willard Masten?” she asked at length. “Why is it that he doesn’t like you?”
His face sobered. “I don’t recollect to have said anything about Masten, ma’am,” he said.
“But you don’t like him, do you?”
A direct answer was required. “No,” he said simply.
“Why?” she persisted.