She made that reply rather obstinately. Alban seemed (in her view) to be trying to prevent her from atoning for an act of injustice. Besides, he despised her cake. "I want to know why you object," she said; taking back the neglected slice, and eating it herself.
"I object," Alban answered, "because Mrs. Rook is a coarse presuming woman. She may pervert your letter to some use of her own, which you may have reason to regret."
"It may be enough for _you_. When I have done a person an injury, and wish to make an apology, I don't think it necessary to inquire whether the person's manners happen to be vulgar or not."
Alban's patience was still equal to any demands that she could make on it. "I can only offer you advice which is honestly intended for your own good," he gently replied.
"You would have more influence over me, Mr. Morris, if you were a little readier to take me into your confidence. I daresay I am wrong--but I don't like following advice which is given to me in the dark."
It was impossible to offend him. "Very naturally," he said; "I don't blame you."
Her color deepened, and her voice rose. Alban's patient adherence to his own view--so courteously and considerately urged--was beginning to try her temper. "In plain words," she rejoined, "I am to believe that you can't be mistaken in your judgment of another person."
There was a ring at the door of the cottage while she was speaking. But she was too warmly interested in confuting Alban to notice it.