As she met his glance the girl's face hardened.
"What do you mean? You think yourself too clever. I'm not the sort you take me for. When I say my friend I mean the young man to whom I'm engaged to be married, so don't you make any error."
"On my honour, I believe that you look prettier by day than you do by night."
"Don't try any of your nonsense on with me. Are you going to get out of this?"
"You might at least thank me for the pretty present which I sent you!"
"Don't talk stuff to me about your presents, you've sent me none of them."
A look of inquiry came into the young man's face, and of annoyance.
"Hasn't Rossignol been yet? Do you mean to say you haven't had it?"
"Had what? Oh, stow this, do! Do you think I don't know what kind of chap you are? You're a barber's clerk, that's what you are. You've got a pound or two in your pocket, and you go gassing about and pretending you're a don, and talk about sending presents as if you'd got the Bank of England at your back, when, I lay odds, it breaks you to pay for your clothes. We girls come across lots of your sort, so we come to know your trade mark, don't you see."
"I do assure you that in my case you're wrong, Miss Emmett."