“I will go when you go,” she said.
“My dear cousin, you must be less vague. Can you be ready? Can you have your packing done, and all your little affairs settled? Where is your maid? She will know best.”
“I have no maid. I have nothing to pack. I am ready now, whenever you please; only you must not leave me. You must never leave me,” she cried, clasping her hands round his arm.
“I have no intention of leaving you,” he said, half flattered, half embarrassed, “till I have taken you to my mother. It is my mother whom you are going to—my mother—I told you—and Ellinor——”
“Will you leave me when we get there?” the girl asked eagerly, still holding him. Yes, it was flattering; but possibly it might become a bore.
“No, no,” he said, “I live there too. I am not going to leave you. But my mother will be the chief person then—my mother and Nelly, not me. They are ladies, they will be your chief friends and companions——”
“I would rather have you; I know you; and I don’t like women,” said the girl. “Listen! Could not we live somewhere without letting them know? I can cook some dishes—very good maccaroni; and I can cook birds. I could do what you wanted, and make your spese. This would be far better than going to live with your mother. I do not like women.”
She warmed as she spoke, turning to face him, with her hand still clasping his arm.
“You must not say such things,” he said.
“Why? This is the first time you have said ‘you must not.’ My father says women are all bad—not some here and there like men. I am one, but I cannot help it. I always try to be different. I would not do the things they do—nor look like them if I could help it. Are you rich?”