“Miss Kitty Bartlett,” he said, “you’ve been crying.”
“I haven’t; and if I had, it is nothing to you.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Don’t deny it. For whom were you crying? The professor?”
“No, nor for you either, although I suppose you have conceit enough to think so.”
“Me conceited? Anything but that. Come, now, Kitty, for whom were you crying? I must know.”
“Please let me go, Mr. Yates,” said Kitty, with an effort at dignity.
“Dick is my name, Kit.”
“Well, mine is not Kit.
“You’re quite right. Now that you mention it, I will call you Kitty, which is much prettier than the abbreviation.”
“I did not ‘mention it.’ Please let me go. Nobody has the right to call me anything but Miss Bartlett; that is, you haven’t, anyhow.”