"You might just as well ha' spoke out," said the other, somewhat scornfully; "do you think I don't know you half hate her already? and it'll be whole hating in another week more. When I first heard you'd come, I guessed you'd have a sweet time with her."
"Why?" said Ellen.
"Oh, don't ask me why," said the other, impatiently, "when you know as well as I do. Every soul that speaks of you, says 'poor child' and 'I'm glad I ain't her.' You needn't try to come cunning over me. I shall be too much for you, I tell you."
"I don't know what you mean," said Ellen.
"Oh, no, I suppose you don't," said the other, in the same tone "of course you don't; I suppose you don't know whether your tongue is your own or somebody's else. You think Miss Fortune is an angel, and so do I to be sure she is!"
Not very pleased with this kind of talk, Ellen walked on for a while, in grave silence. Her companion meantime recollected herself; when she spoke again it was with an altered tone.
"How do you like Mr. Van Brunt?"
"I don't like him at all," said Ellen, reddening.
"Don't you!" said the other surprised "why, everybody likes him. What don't you like him for?"
"I don't like him," repeated Ellen.