“Frances,” I began.
“Well—Mr. Knowles?” calmly.
“Frances, I have decided to speak with you frankly. You appear to take certain things for granted in your—your dealings with Miss Cahoon and myself, things which—which I cannot countenance or permit.”
She had been walking slowly. Now she stopped short. I stopped, too, because she did.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “What things?”
She was looking me through and through. Again I hesitated, and my hesitation did not help matters.
“What do you mean?” she repeated. “What is it you cannot countenance or”—scornfully—“permit concerning me?”
“I—well, I cannot permit you to do as you have done to-day. You did not tell your aunt or me your purpose in coming to Wrayton. You did not tell us you were coming here to buy—to buy various things for yourself.”
“Why should I tell you? They were for myself. Is it your idea that I should ask YOUR permission before buying what I choose?”
“Considering that you ask me to pay, I—”