"You don't look well," he said, abruptly. She smiled. ("I might have known that he would say that," she said to herself.)
"I know it," she returned, quietly. "The maid woke me up, as she generally does, with strong coffee. I refused at first to be waked. I haven't been to bed at a reasonable hour for weeks, and I'm so countrified that I show the ill effects of it."
"You shouldn't go out so much," said Gerard. "What is Eleanor thinking of that she allows it? You—you will be ill if this keeps up." He spoke almost angrily.
"Yet what difference would it make to him?" thought Elizabeth. "He is very unaccountable. Why should he look at my picture, thinking no doubt all the time how ugly my hair is? I don't want his advice—I won't have it. Oh, it's all in a good cause," she said lightly, aloud. "I complain sometimes, but I wouldn't stay at home, really, for the world. It's all too delightful. I may be tired, but at least I'm not bored."
"It has all come up to your expectations, then?" said Gerard. "You like it better than—a—the river view?"
"Ah, if you had looked at that view as many years as I have, you wouldn't need to ask the question."
"And you are always amused?" he went on. "That was the next wish, wasn't it? You see I'm putting you through the category, as I threatened to do once, and I expect only the truth for an answer. Are you always, every day and all day long, thoroughly amused?"
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Don't I—seem to be?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I've wondered—sometimes. You certainly ought to be," he declared.
"Then," she said "you may take it for granted that I am."