If not, I must keep away altogether."
Bressant's forehead grew red with sudden temper. He felt reproved, but
was not prepared to acknowledge that he had merited it.
"You're very generous of your voice!" exclaimed he, resentfully. "It's
your fault, not mine, that it's agreeable. You're not so kind as your
tone is."
"I don't mean to be unkind," said she, more gently, looking down. "You
don't seem to see the difference between unkindness and--what I said."
"What is the difference?" demanded he, taking her up.
Sophie paused a few moments, compassionating this great, willful boy,
and wondering what she could do for him. He had saved her father's life,
thereby imperilling his own, and disabling himself, and she could not
but admire and thank him for it. But his manner puzzled and annoyed her,
and was an obstacle in the way of her would-be helpfulness.
"You wouldn't ask that question, I think, if you'd had sisters, or a
mother," she said, at last. "I suppose you've lived only with men. But
you must learn how to treat young women from your own sense of what is
delicate and true."
Bressant stared and was silent: and Sophie herself was surprised at the
authoritative tone she was assuming toward a bearded man whom she had
never met before.
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