“We’re different. We won’t have anything to do with a stranger till we’ve got his credentials. I dare say we’re over-particular. No English girl I’ve ever met would take up a man this way——”
“I’m not in the habit of it,” said Frances. She was affronted and angry. “But I’m not a child. I’m accustomed to—to forming my own judgments. I—as far as I could judge, you were a gentleman. I thought you’d quite understand——”
“I do!” he protested, “I do, absolutely. I only wanted to tell you that I like it—all this freedom, you know. An English girl of your class would be so—so much more prudent——”
“I’m not imprudent!” cried Frances, passionately.
“Ah, but you are, though. My dear young lady, you don’t even know my name.”
“Well, what is it, then?” she asked, half-laughing, half-furious. “You’d better tell me, if that will make this shocking walk more ‘prudent.’”
“Haven’t you any letters, any papers, to identify yourself? How can I tell if that’s really your name?”
He replied with perfect seriousness:
“I’ve one or two things—a letter——”