“What are you doing in Plainville?” the young man demanded. “Why do you work for Mrs. Goode, sweeping her boarders’ rooms—a menial servant, a—a chambermaid?”
“Fie on you, sir!” she cried, but there was a playful note in her voice. “All honest work is honourable. There is nothing menial—except being menial.”
“But you—you don’t need to do this. You are educated. Your speech proclaims it. I have seen your handwriting; it is that of a business woman. You have appearance. You have presence. You don’t need to do this work. Why do you do it?”
“Why should I answer that question?” she parried.
“I don’t know. I suppose there is no reason. But you said you—you loved me——”
“I didn’t.”
“You let me know it.”
“You divined it. You found it out yourself. That saves me. If I had told you I would be a shameless woman, but if you find it out my honour is unscathed. Such are the decrees of convention.”
“At any rate, now you have admitted it. Will you answer my question. Why are you in Plainville?”
“Do you admit as much? You are interested in me. Do yourself the justice to believe that I am interested in you.”