Impudence sat down a yard off, blushing hotly, her childlike face full of reproach that she had been led astray from last night's fine ideals. So this was the way she was playing the part of a grown woman. Pretty chance there was if she behaved as it schoolgirl of being Una with a growly Burrow!
"Miss Burrows," said the Blackguard, "ain't you ashamed of yourself? You've interrupted the most serious thoughts, you've rumpled my hair, you've put out my pipe, you've damaged my complexion. Nice sort of girl you are!"
She looked at his wicked bronzed face—his complexion, indeed! Then she laughed, not knowing that every note of her happiness went through the man like an arrow.
"Do you know, young lady, that I'm dangerous, that I'm a bad lot, that your mother, if you have one, would be afraid to see you sitting near me, eh?"
"You needn't be conceited about it, anyway."
It was evidently no use trying to warn her—she did not believe in evil, this sweet maid, but trusted herself in his bad company—ay, and trusted him.
Clever women had played with him—had played with fire, but the wise ladies had been badly burned. Her defenceless littleness was not like their strong towers. They incited to attack, she to defence. "Little woman," he said, "it's time for me to be going."
"Oh, but the sun's only just up, and I must make amends for my Uncle's manners. I am going to make him apologise to you—I am indeed. He shall go down on his bended knees. You must stay for dinner."
"But if I am not back in camp by noon I shall be put under arrest, then awful things will happen."
"What kind of things?"