"I wish you wouldn't talk like that to father. It upsets him so."
I was adjusting a slight fullness at the back, which made it the easier for me to answer.
"I wouldn't if he didn't talk like that to me. What can I do? I have to say something."
She was peering into the cheval glass over her shoulder, giving her attention to two things at once.
"I mean your saying you expected both of those preposterous things to happen. Of course, you don't—nor either of them—and it only rubs him up the wrong way."
I was too meek now to argue the point. Besides, I was preoccupied with the widening interests in which I found myself involved. To probe the security of my position once more, I said:
"I wonder you stand it—that you don't send me away."
She was still twisting in front of the cheval glass.
"Don't you think that shoulder-strap is loose? It really looks as if the whole thing would slip off me. If he can stand it I can," she added, as a matter of secondary concern.
"Oh, then he can stand it." I felt the shoulder-strap. "No, I think it's all right, if you don't wriggle too much."