“Weren’t you going to say that it wasn’t how long you’d known a person that mattered?”
“It certainly didn’t matter in Arthur’s case,” I said. “I liked him from the first moment I saw him. It’s true that we had been talking for some time before there was light enough for me to see him.”
“You like him so much that you’d be willing to lend him all the money he wanted, without security?” she asked.
“Yes, all the money I have,” I said.
“Without any—any sort of condition?”
“I should make one condition,” I replied.
“Which is?”
“That he’d let me come and stay with him, and Brenda, and all of you—on the farm.”
“And, of course, we should all have to be very nice to you, and treat you as our benefactor—our proprietor, almost,” she suggested cruelly.
I was hurt, and for a moment I was inclined to behave much as young Turnbull had behaved that afternoon, to turn away and sulk, and show that I had been grievously misunderstood. I overcame that impulse, however. “I shouldn’t expect you to curtsey!” I said.