“Oh, that old story over again!” said Augusta. “Well, of course I know.”
“I cannot forget it.”
“So I see. You certainly have a terribly tender conscience, seeing the way you abuse it.”
“Oh, you do not know how unhappy I feel! You were surprised when, a night or two ago, I wanted to see Mr. Pryor. I will tell you what I did; I do not mind confessing to you. No one would take me, and I ran there all the way by myself.”
“You did, Nan! You are a daring little piece. Upon my word, there is something I rather admire about you. I could not be so out and out wicked—not for anybody.”
“All the same, I think you are wickeder than me, Augusta,” said Nan.
“You do, do you? Well, now, do you think that is a very polite thing to say, particularly when you have put yourself in my power as you are doing?”
“I am so much in your power,” replied poor Nan, “that a little more or a little less does not matter. I did go and see Mr. Pryor.”
“And whoever is this wonderful Mr. Pryor?”
“He is an old gentleman—awfully good.”