He had the exasperating habit of treating kindness to himself with an air of condescension, as if he conferred a favor by accepting benefits. His smile of superiority hurt Mrs. Romaine.
"When you adopt that tone, Oliver, I hate you!" she cried.
"You are very impulsive, Rosy—in spite of your years," said Oliver, with his usual quietness. "I assure you I do not wish to interfere; and you must set it down to brotherly affection if I sometimes feel inclined to wonder what you mean to do."
"To do?" she queried, looking round at him.
"Yes, to do. I don't understand you, that is all. Of course, it is not necessary that I should understand."
Mrs. Romaine did not often change color, but she flushed scarlet now, and was glad for a moment that the room was almost dark. Yet, as her brother stood close to her, and the fire was sending up fitful flashes of ruddy light, she felt certain, on reflection, that he had seen that blush. This certainly imparted some humility to her voice as she spoke again.
"You know, Oliver, that I always like you to approve of what I am doing. I like you to understand. Of course, whatever I do, it is partly for your sake."
"Is it?" said Oliver, with a laugh. "I shouldn't have thought it. As far as I can judge, you have been very careful to please yourself all through."
There was a little silence. Then she said, in a low tone,
"How have I pleased myself, I should like to know?"