"You're beautiful, Vassie, just beautiful. And just like a lady…."
"I am a lady," said Vassie sharply. "How am I not a lady, I should like to know? Haven't I been four years in a boarding-school, and don't I go and stay with a clergyman's family in Plymouth? A lady…. When I was at Plymouth last month for the Prince's wedding celebrations one of the officers of a battleship asked who I was!"
"I know, you've told me. Vassie—"
"Well?"
"Nothing. Only I sometimes wonder why you've never got wed up there to
Plymouth. One of those officers, or perhaps a clergyman…?"
Vassie rather wondered herself, but all she said was: "I'm not going to give up my freedom for the first man who lifts his little finger, I can tell you. I haven't such a great opinion of the menfolk. Conceited creatures, the most of them. I mean to pick and choose. And I mean Ishmael to help me."
"Oh, Vassie, how?" came from the wide-eyed listener on the bed.
"Why, I shall make him bring his school friends down, of course. They're all gentlemen. And then I shall make them fall in love with me."
"But won't they be a lot younger than you, Vassie? You're three years older'n Ishmael."
"Some of 'em may be older than him, mayn't they? And one thing leads to another. We might both get asked to stay with their folks. Besides—I don't know that I should mind a man younger than me. I'd know more what to do with him. I've always found boys easier. Men are so funny—as if they were always keeping something to themselves. I don't like that."