"Yes, I think she does," gravely. "He is always describing her perfections and her sweetnesses, as if we hadn't quarreled and declared we wouldn't speak to each other and done little spiteful tricks that girls always do, and—and gotten over it, and know all about each other."
"I don't believe you were ever very spiteful. That takes a small nature."
She looked furtively from under her long lashes, as if considering.
"Well—Patty and I quarrel. You must know that I haven't the most amiable temper in the world when I am roused."
"Yes." She could be very tormenting.
"And I like to have my own way. Papa generally gives in. And sometimes I feel self-condemned that mamma is so good to me."
"Then you have a conscience?"
"I don't believe my own mother would have been so easy. And there's grandmamma—"
"Who would have led you to find out your mind in short order," he commented quickly.
"Her mind, you mean. And if she had resolved that I shouldn't marry you, you would have been sent to the right-about at once. And that reminds me—Lieutenant Ralston is coming down next week. But I suppose you are not afraid of him, since his heart is—oh, can you tell where it is? Sometimes I think he still cares for Marian, and then he is so bitter and sharp. She won't ever marry Mr. Greaves now."