Katherine Massarene drew her hand away.
“Sir,” she said very distinctly; “my father was a cowherd and my mother a dairy-woman. I do not know why you should do them the honor to dine with them, sir, merely because they earned money in America!”
Her companion had never received such a “facer” in all his fifty years of life. Like his own speech it suggested innumerable things. He grew very red and his glassy eyes became very sullen.
He was silent for a few moments. Then he rose and offered her his arm.
“Allow me to take you back to your chaperon,” he said in glacial accents which she infinitely preferred to his familiarity.
“What have you done to him?” said that lady as he left her with a ceremonious bow.
“I have told him a truth,” said Katherine indifferently. “I suppose it is too strong diet for him. He is not used to it!”
“I should think not indeed!” said the lady, much disturbed. “What can you have said?”
“He will probably tell people,” said Katherine. “If he do not, I shall not.”
He did, not very wisely, tell two of his boon companions that same night as they sat smoking with him.