"Then put this round you," disagreeably, but with evident anxiety, producing the cozy plaid.
"No, thank you."
"Why?" surprised.
"Because it is yours," replies she, with such open and childish spite as at any other time would have brought a smile to his lips. Now it brings only a dull pain to his heart.
"I am sorry I only brought what you will not wear," he answers: "it did not occur to me you might carry your dislike to me even to my clothes. In future I shall be wiser."
Silence.
"Do put it on!" anxiously: "you were coughing all last week."
"I wouldn't be hypocritical, if I were you," with withering scorn. "I feel sure it would be a matter for rejoicing, where you are concerned, if I coughed all next week, and the week after. No: keep your plaid."
"You are the most willful girl I ever met," wrathfully.