"That's not the way to talk," said Mayne sternly. "What do you mean by it? You are far too young to think of marriage."
"Who said I was thinkin' about marriage?" she flashed back. "Am I the old woman? Am I to answer for her dirty bargains?"
"Then tell us what you mean," said Mayne. "Is it true that Otis wants to marry you?"
Otis was Amurrica's patronymic.
"I don' know," said Millie casually. "I only know he's pretty thick with the old woman; an' she doesn't mean to let me go for nothing; all of you can bet on that."
"But why talk this nonsense?" urged Mayne reprovingly. "Mrs. Lutwyche couldn't dispose of you against your will, even if you were a Kaffir."
Milly laughed—one clear, liquid note.
"No, of course she can't," said she. "That's where the joke comes in. Think I'd go along o' that sort o' scum?"
She indicated poor Bert with a slight wave of that fragile wrist.
"Then what are you goin' to do, Millie?" burst out the young man in anguish. "If she turns you out, where're you goin'—eh?"