"So you think, mademoiselle, that I dislike you?"
"Think it, my dear sir,—I know it. All the Bay knows it."
"Then all the Bay is mistaken; I esteem you highly."
"Actions speak louder than words," and her teasing glance played about his shining glasses. "In order to be polite you perjure yourself."
"Mademoiselle!"
"I am sorry to be so terribly plain-spoken," she said, nodding her head shrewdly, yet childishly. "But I understand perfectly that you think I have a feather for a brain. You really cannot stoop to converse with me. You say, 'Oh, that deceived Mr. Nimmo! He thinks he has accomplished a wonderful thing. He says, "Come now, see what I have done for a child of the Bay; I will send her back to you. Fall down and worship her."'"
Agapit smiled despite himself. "Mademoiselle, you must not make fun of yourself."
"But why not? It is my chief amusement. I am the most ridiculous mortal that ever lived, and I know how foolish I am; but why do you not exercise your charity? You are, I hear, kind and forbearing with the worst specimens of humanity on the Bay. Why should you be severe with me?"
Agapit winced as if she had pinched him. "What do you wish me to do?"