"The Fool? Oh, yes; there was Touchstone, wasn't there?"
"I believe it is admitted that there was."
She laughed; I felt that we were bound to get on better, now that we understood each other.
"You are rather proud of your attainments, aren't you? I have really read the play, Mr. Donovan: I have even seen it acted."
"I did not mean to reflect on your intelligence, which is acute enough; or on your attainments, which are sufficient; or on your experience of life, which is ample!"
"Well spoken! I really believe that I am liking you better all the time, Mr. Donovan."
"My heart is swollen with gratitude. You heard my talk with your father at his cottage last night. And then you flew back to Miss Pat and played the hypocrite with the artlessness of Rosalind—the real Rosalind."
"Did I? Then I'm as clever as I am wicked. You, no doubt, are as wise as you are good."
She folded her arms with a quick movement, the better, I thought, to express satisfaction with her own share of the talk; then her manner changed abruptly. She rested her hands on the back of the bench and bent toward me.
"My father dealt very generously with you. You were an intruder. He was well within his rights in capturing you. And, more than that, you drew to our place some enemies of your own who may yet do us grave injury."