I believe her gowns do rustle--but what in the
world--?
DIANA. Then I should hate her!
MYSELF. But why? In the name of reason why under heaven should--?
DIANA. Just because!
MYSELF. Pray be more explicit. Why should you hate one whom--?
DIANA. Because she'd rustle her fine silks at me and look through me
and try to make me feel I was only small beer.
MYSELF. 'Small beer' is an extremely unpleasing phrase, Diana.
DIANA. But it tells ye what I mean. I sees grand ladies afore to-day
and I don't want any of 'em to rustle at me! I won't have their pity
and I don't want their help--I likes the silent places and my little
_churi_ best.
MYSELF. My aunt Julia is a very noble woman, as good as she is
beautiful, a woman whom all respect and honour--
DIANA. Well, I hates her already.
MYSELF. That is exceedingly unreasonable! How can you hate one you
have never seen?
DIANA. Easily.
MYSELF. But in heaven's name, why?
DIANA. Because I do!
MYSELF. That is no answer! (Here she scowled at me.) Pray be sensible,
Diana! (Here she kicked viciously at a tuft of grass.) Indeed you make
it very difficult for me to help you.
"I don't want your help either!" she retorted angrily.
"No matter!" quoth I, folding my arms. "My mind is quite made up."
"So is mine!" and speaking, she would have risen, but I caught a fold
of her petticoat. "Let go!" she cried.
"Sit still, Diana, and listen to me!"
"Let me go!"
"Not until you have heard all I wish to say--" As I spoke, with a
movement incredibly quick, she flashed out her knife.
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