She smiled at me: "There is a family saying, 'A Grant grants but never accepts'.... I have youth, health, two arms, two legs, and a pair of steady eyes. If these can not keep me alive through the world's journey, then I ought to perish and make room for another." "What do you meditate to keep you?" I asked uneasily. "For the present," said she, still smiling, "what I am doing is well enough to keep me in food and clothes and lodging." At first I did not understand her, then an odd suspicion seized me; for I remembered during the last two weeks, when I lay sick, hearing strange voices in her ante-chamber, and strange people coming and going in the passageway. Seeing me perplexed and frowning, she laughed and took the empty bowl from my hands, and set it aside. Then she smoothed my pillow. "I am employed by the garrison," said she, "to work for them with needle and shears. I do their mending; I darn, stitch, sew, and alter. I patch shirts and under-garments; I also make shirts, and devise officers' neck-cloths, stocks, and wrist-bands at request. "Also, I now employ a half-breed Oneida woman as tailoress; and she first measures and then I cut out patterns of coats, breeches, rifle-frocks, and watch-coats, which she then takes home and sews, then tries on her customers, and finally finishes,--I sewing on all galons, laces, and braids.... And so you see I pay my way, Mr. Drogue, and am in no stress for the present at any rate." "Good heavens!" said I amazed, "I never dreamed that you were so employed!" "But I am obliged to eat, John Drogue!" "I have sufficient for both," I muttered. "I thought it was understood----" "That I should live on your bounty, my lord?" "Will you ever have done with lording me?" I said angrily. "I think you do it to plague me." "I ask forgiveness," she murmured, still smiling. "Also, I crave pardon for refusing to live on your kind bounty." "I do not mean it that way!" said I sharply. "Besides, you kept Summer House for us, and did all things indoors and most things outdoor; and had no pay for the labour----" "I had food and a bed. And your protection.... And most excellent company," she added, smiling saucily upon me. "You owe me nothing, John Drogue. Nor do I mean to owe you,--or any man,--more than that proper debt of kindness which kindness to me begets." I lay back on my pillows, not knowing whether to laugh or scowl. That Penelope had become a tailoress and sempstress to the garrison did not pleasure me at all; and it was as though I had lost some advantage or influence over this girl, whose present situation and whose future did now considerably begin to concern me. Yet, what was I to say against this business, or what offer make her that her modesty and pride could consider? It was perfectly clear to me that she never had intended to be obliged to me for anything, and never would be. And now her saucy smile and gentle mockery confirmed this conclusion and put me out of countenance.