"Well," he asked her, "... where 's the goodness in that?"
"It was all of it goodness."
"Nothing of the sort, dear girl. It 's all pure selfish pride."
Oh, no, no, no! Pam could n't believe that.
Oh, but she must believe it. He 'd given her lessons solely for his own pleasure—not hers—because teaching her had interested him, and it was a sort of recreation. And he 'd taught her French for the same reason, and for the pride of being looked up to as a great French authority. And he 'd given her books and music so that she might say what a kind, generous fellow he was,—oh, she must n't make any mistake about the matter; it was precious little goodness she 'd have found about him. Oh, he was a bad one at heart!
So, arguing agreeably on the subject of goodness specific and general, they walked along the high-road lane that leads to Shippus.
Thus they came at last upon a group of two or three detached cottages along the roadside, white-washed and blinding, with thatched roofs and tarred palings, and a profusion of giant nasturtiums clambering over the doors and licking at the window-sills with a great yellow-scarlet blaze, as though the porches were on fire. Here Pam slowed up, and held out her hand for the basket.
"Shall you be long?" the Spawer asked, giving it to her.
"Perhaps you won't care to wait?" she suggested wistfully, though offering him his liberation.
"Trot along," said he, smiling back refusal of the proffered freedom. "I 'll hang about outside for you. Only promise me you won't slip away by the back."