His tone has some new edge to it, some quality I have not heard before. But we have changed our course: when I gaze at his face the light is all behind him, making his expression hard to read.
I say carefully, ''You call me a lady; but I am hardly that.''
''And yet, I think your uncle must consider you one. Will he like to think you corrupted?''@@
''He has corrupted me himself!''
''Then, will he like to think the work taken over by another man''s hand?—I am speaking only, of course, of what he will suppose to be the case.''
I move away. ''You misunderstand him, entirely. He considers me a sort of engine, for the reading and copying of texts.''
''All the worse. He shan''t like it, when the engine bucks. What say he disposes of it and makes himself another?''
Now I can feel the beat of the blood in my brow. I put my fingers to my eyes. ''Don''t be tiresome, Richard. Disposes of it, how?''
''Why, by sending it home . . .''
The beat seems to stumble, then quickens. I draw back my fingers, but again the light is behind him and I cannot quite make out his fa