“What do you do? Are you clever? Can you draw, and spell, and read?”
I was sure now that she was laughing at me, but I thought her taste execrable.
“I cannot be certain about my spelling,” I replied, “but I believe I can read.”
“How old are you?”
“Four-and-twenty.”
“Why, you’re a mere boy!” she exclaimed with a loud laugh. “No wonder you’re afraid of noises!”
I began to wish that my uncle would come in. I was really alarmed by the girl’s extravagance. There was something indescribably impudent in her manner and a slanginess in her speech, to say nothing of its grammatical deficiencies, that was inexpressibly repulsive to me. Uncle Tom had suggested that she wanted taming, but that word suggested nothing. She stood in need of greater discipline than taming.
“Haven’t you brought any messages for me from Grove End?” she demanded. “I don’t want to be thought rude; but really, you seem a perfect stick, without a word to say for yourself.”
“Your pistol has blown all my confidence out of me.”
“You think me rather outspoken, don’t you?”