"I had food and a bed. And your protection.... And most excellent company," she added, smiling saucily upon me. "You owe me nothing, John Drogue. Nor do I mean to owe you,—or any man,—more than that proper debt of kindness which kindness to me begets."
I lay back on my pillows, not knowing whether to laugh or scowl. That Penelope had become a tailoress and sempstress to the garrison did not pleasure me at all; and it was as though I had lost some advantage or influence over this girl, whose present situation and whose future did now considerably begin to concern me.
Yet, what was I to say against this business, or what offer make her that her modesty and pride could consider?
It was perfectly clear to me that she never had intended to be obliged to me for anything, and never would be. And now her saucy smile and gentle mockery confirmed this conclusion and put me out of countenance.
I cast a troubled glance at her from my pillow, where she sat by my bed sewing on a pair of wrist-bands for some popinjay of the garrison—God knew who he might be!—and, as I regarded her, further and further she seemed to be slipping out of my influence and out of the care which, mentally at least, I had felt it my duty to give to her.
She troubled me. She troubled me deeply. Her independence, her sufficiency, her beauty, her sly and pretty mockery of me, all conspired to give me a new concern for her, and I had not experienced the like since Steve Watts kissed her by the lilacs.
I had seen her in many phases, but never before in this phase, and I knew not what face to put on such a disturbing situation.
For a while I lay there frowning and sulky, and spoke not. She tranquilly finished her wrist-bands, went to her chamber, returned with a dozen stocks, all cut out and basted, and picked up one to fit a plain military frill to it.
From my window, near where my head rested, I saw a gold sunset between the maple trees and the roofs across the street. Birds sang their evening carols,—robins on every fence post, orioles in the elms, and far away a wood-thrush filled the quiet with his liquid ecstasies.