“I do not think that would do at all, Mrs. Cheyne. I do not mean to be rude or ungrateful for your kindness, but—but––” Here the girl stammered and broke down.
“You wish, then, to confine our intercourse to a purely business relation?” asked Mrs. Cheyne, and her voice had a tone of the old bitterness.
“Would it not be better under the circumstances? Forgive me if I am too proud, but––”
“Oh, you are proud, terribly proud!” returned Mrs. Cheyne, taking up her words before she could complete her sentence. “You owe me a grudge for what I said that night, and now you are making me pay the penalty. Well, I am not meek: there is not a human being living to whom I would sue for friendship. If I were starving for a kind word, I would sooner die than ask for one. You see, I am proud too, Miss Challoner.”
“Oh, I did not mean to hurt you,” returned Phillis, distressed at this, but determined not to yield an inch or bend to the sudden caprice of this extraordinary woman, who had made her suffer so once.
“To be hurt, one must have feelings,” returned this singular person. “Do not be afraid, I shall not attempt to shake your resolution: if you come to me now it must be of your own free will.”
“And if I come, what then?” asked Phillis, standing very straight and stiff, for she would not be patronized.
“If you come you will be welcome,” returned Mrs. Cheyne; and then, with a grave inclination of the head, she swept out of the room.