OAK WEIR LOCK
"IF it weren't for your finger—" said she.
"My finger is the just reward of idiocy and doesn't deserve any kind thought from you."
"If it weren't for that, I should rather enjoy it," she said. "There's plenty to eat left in the basket. Shall I get it out and let's have supper before it's quite dark? I do really think it's fun. Don't you?"
"That's right," said he, with a show of bitterness, "make the best of it out of pity for the insane idiot who landed you in this fix. Be bright, be womanly, never let me guess that a cold, damp lock and a 'few bits of broken vittles' are not really better than a decent supper and a roof over your head. A fig for the elegancies of civilization and the comforts of home! Go on being tactful. I adore it."
"I meant what I said," she answered, with gentle insistence. "I do rather like it. I'll whine about my dinner and my looking-glass, if you like, but I'll get the supper first. Isn't it glorious to think that there's no one at home—where the comforts and the elegancies are—no one to be anxious about us because we're late, and scold us when we get home? Liberty," she ended, reflectively, "is a very beautiful thing. I suppose no one is likely to come along this way till the shepherd comes in the morning?"
"We'll hope for better luck," said he. "I say, you'll never trust me to take care of you again after this silly business—"
"I don't know," she said, deliberately, "that I ever asked you to take care of me. Did I? You were to help me—yes, and you have helped me—but I don't think I want to be taken care of, any more than another man would want it. I was in a difficulty and you helped me. If you were in a difficulty and I helped you, you wouldn't expect me to take care of you forever, would you?"
"I don't know," he said. "If you hadn't been extraordinarily sensible I should still be there with my hand in the thumbscrew."
"Did you think," she asked, sweetly, "that all women were inevitably silly?"