"I'm real glad to see you," he said, but not pleasantly. "I've been looking for you; and it's just as well for you I found you without more ado."
"I'm just going out," said Eliza; "I can't stay now."
"You'll just stop a bit where you are, and hear what I'm going to say."
"I can't," said she, angrily; but he was at the door, and she made no movement towards it.
He talked right on. "I'm going away," he said. "I've packed up all that I possess here in this place, and I'm going to depart by this afternoon's train. No one much knows of this intention. I take it you won't interfere, so I don't mind confiding my design to your kind and sympathetic breast."
The emphasis he laid on the eulogy was evidently intended for bitter sarcasm. Anger gave her unwonted glibness.
"I'll ask you to be good enough to pay our bill, then. If you're making off because you can't pay your other debts it's no affair of mine."
He bowed mockingly. "You are real kind. Can't think how much obliged I am for your tactful reminder; but it don't happen to be my financial affairs that I came to introdooce to your notice." He stammered a moment, as if carried rather out of his bearings by his own loquacity. "It's—it's rather your finances that I wish to enlarge upon."
She opposed herself to him in cold silence that would not betray a gleam of curiosity.
"You're a mighty fine young lady, upon my word!" he observed, running his eye visibly over her apparel. "Able to work for yourself, and buy silk skirts, and owning half a bit of ground that people are beginning to think will be worth something considerable when they get to mining there. Oh, you're a fine one—what with your qualities and your fortune!"