“It is no trouble,” said Patty, hotly. “I’m going to defend my rights, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, I hope that’s what it is,” said Roger, “but I don’t like to hear of any one I care for beginning with the law. It just skins you alive and wastes good money that might be spent far better—bring you in a deal more pleasure, I mean.”
“You don’t know very much, Roger, about the pleasure money brings in!”
“Oh, don’t I, Patty! Well, if one of us remembers the old days the other must, too. Cricketing about all over the place as I’m doing, runs through a good lot, I can tell you, if it didn’t bring a little more in.”
“Don’t you do anything but cricket, nowadays?” she said.
“Not much; but it pays well enough,” said Roger, pushing back his cap from his forehead.
The evening, it is true, was getting a little dim, though not dark; but didn’t he look a gentleman! No one would have guessed he wasn’t a gentleman, was the thought that passed through Patty’s mind like a dart.
“And I live a lot among the swells, now,” he said, “and I hear what they say; I don’t want to offend you, Patty, far from it—but ain’t it a bore living all by yourself in that big lonesome house, with all the deaths and things that have happened in it?”
“You forget it’s my home,” said Patty, drawing herself up.
“Well, is it your home? All right if it had been your husband’s or if there had been an heir; but I don’t hold myself with a place going out of the family like that—that has been in it for hundreds of years. I don’t like the thoughts of the Seven Thorns even going out o’ the name of ’Ewitt. It’s no concern of mine, but I don’t.”