She glanced at him half defiantly, not sure whether he was "pokin' fun at her" or not.
"If you mean I talks country talk," said she, "you're right. Why shouldn't I, with no one to tell me better?"
Again he mused. His mood was gentle this evening.
"I realize I have neglected you," he presently said. "You were thrust upon me like a stray kitten, which one does not want but cannot well reject. Your mother has not supplied me with money for your education, although she has regularly paid for your keep."
"She has?" cried Ingua, astounded. "Then you've swindled her an' me both, for I pays for more'n my keep in hard work. My keep? For the love o' Mike, what does my keep amount to? A cent a year?"
He winced a little at her sarcasm but soon collected himself. Strangely enough, he did not appear to be angry with her.
"I've neglected you," he repeated, "but it has been an oversight. I have had so much on my mind that I scarcely realized you were here. I forgot you are Nan's child and that you—you needed attention."
Ingua put on her new hat, looking into a cracked mirror.
"Ye might 'a' remembered I'm a Cragg, anyhow," said she, mollified by his tone of self reproach. "An' ye might 'a' remembered as you're a Cragg. The Craggs orter help each other, 'cause all the world's ag'in 'em."
He gave her an odd look, in which pride, perplexity and astonishment mingled.