“The Rich may have what they will,” I said, “nearly, but not quite. I was not made for a plaything for the Rich.”
“You are bitter, and you are not fair,” she said softly. “It is not like you, Adam. There is something more. Why will you make it hard?”
“I will not make it hard,” I answered. “There is nothing else. What has a fisherman to say to a Daughter of the Rich, or she to him? So, for that other matter, Miss Goodwin, I absolve you from an answer.”
“Adam,” she cried, “you make me angry. I have a mind to go home.”
“Shall I see you on your way?” I asked.
“I will not have it so,” she said, and stood and stamped her foot. I knew well how she must look, in that pretty rage. “And you forgot, Adam.”
“What?” I asked. “I would not fail in duty.”
“My name,” she said. “I told you it was Eve.”
“Are you not Miss Goodwin?”
“Adam,” she said firmly, “I said Eve.”