Cassandra by Chance

Don’t be so prissy,” he advised her sourly. “I’m no mealymouthed parson.”
She allowed herself a moment’s comparison of Mr. Campbell and the man before her and was surprised to find that Mr. Campbell came off second best. “I’m sure he’s a very good man and kind.”
“Meaning that I’m not? As though I care a damn what you think, my pious Miss. Darling—going to church in your best hat and probably making the reverend’s heart flutter to boot. You sound just his sort.”
“I’m not anyone’s sort, Mr. van Manfeld.” She picked up her empty basket and went to the door, her voice coming loud and rather wobbly. “It’s a good thing you can’t see me, because I’m extremely angry.”
His voice followed her, still sour. “But I can see you after a fashion. It’s true you’re dark blue and very fuzzy round the edges, but since you assure me that you’re a plain girl, I don’t really see that it matters, do you?”
Cassandra ground her teeth without answering this piece of rudeness and banged the door regrettably hard as she went out.