"See here, my lass," said I sharply, "you seem to misunderstand my errand here."
"And am like to," said she, "unless you make your errand short and plainer—though I have learned that the errands which bring such men as you to me are not too easily misunderstood."
"Such men as I——"
"You and your friend with the bold, black eyes. Ask him how much change he had of me when he came back."
"I did not know he had seen you again," said I, still redder. And saw that she believed me not.
"Birds sing; men lie," said she. "So if——"
"Be silent! Do you hear!" I cut her short with such contempt that I saw the painful colour whip her cheeks and her eyes quiver.
Small doubt that what she had learned of men had not sweetened her nor taught her confidence. But whatever she had been, and whatever she was, after all concerned not me that I should take pains to silence her so brutally.
"I am sorry I spoke as I did," said I, "—however mistaken you are concerning my seeking you here."
She said nothing.