“If you send Dickon away, I’ll never come into this room again!” she retorted.
“You’ll have to if I want you,” said Colin.
“I won’t!” said Mary.
“I’ll make you,” said Colin. “They shall drag you in.”
“Shall they, Mr. Rajah!” said Mary fiercely. “They may drag me in but they can’t make me talk when they get me here. I’ll sit and clench my teeth and never tell you one thing. I won’t even look at you. I’ll stare at the floor!”
They were a nice agreeable pair as they glared at each other. If they had been two little street boys they would have sprung at each other and had a rough-and-tumble fight. As it was, they did the next thing to it.
“You are a selfish thing!” cried Colin.
“What are you?” said Mary. “Selfish people always say that. Anyone is selfish who doesn’t do what they want. You’re more selfish than I am. You’re the most selfish boy I ever saw.”
“I’m not!” snapped Colin. “I’m not as selfish as your fine Dickon is! He keeps you playing in the dirt when he knows I am all by myself. He’s selfish, if you like!”
Mary’s eyes flashed fire.
“He’s nicer than any other boy that ever lived!” she said. “He’s—he’s like an angel!” It might sound rather silly to say that but she did not care.
“A nice angel!” Colin sneered ferociously. “He’s a common cottage boy off the moor!”