“Yes—no! I don’t know! You had better come up the backstairs. You may tidy yourself in my brother’s room while I fetch the ointment, and some linen. I wish I had never laid eyes on you! You are rude, and stupid, and I was never so plagued by anyone in my life!”
“Permit me to return the compliment!” he said, following her along the passage.
“I will make you sorry you ever dared to cross swords with me!” she flung over her shoulder. “I’ll marry your cousin, and I’ll ruin him.”
“To spite me, I suppose,” he said satirically.
“Be quiet! Do you want to bring the servants out upon us?”
“It is a matter of indifference to me.”
“Well, it is not a matter of indifference to me!” she said.
He laughed, but said no more until they had reached Kit’s room upon the third floor. Miss Grantham left him there with the candle, while she went off to hunt for salves and linen bandages. When she returned, he had pulled off his coat, and discarded the fragments of his charred ruffles, besides straightening his tumbled cravat, and brushing his short black locks. The backs of his hands were badly scorched, and he winced a little when Miss Grantham smeared her ointment over them,
“It serves you right!” she told him. “I dare say it may hurl you, and I am sure I don’t care!”
“Why should you indeed?” he agreed.