"Yes," blandly: "that exactly illustrates my idea."
"You think, then, he dislikes me?" says Lilian, raising herself the better to examine her companion's features, while a sense of thorough amusement makes itself felt within her.
"Dislike"—apologetically—"is a hard word. And yet at times I think so. Surely you must have noticed how he avoids you, how he declines to carry out any argument commenced by you."
"I blush for my want of sensibility," says Lilian, meekly. "No, I have not noticed it."
"Have you not?" with exaggerated surprise. "I have."
At this most inopportune moment Guy enters the room.
"Ah, Guy," says Lilian, quietly, "come here. I want to tell you something."
He comes over obediently, gladly, and stands by her chair. It is a low one, and he leans his arm upon the back of it.
"Florence has just said you hate being contradicted," she murmurs, in her softest tones.
"If she did, there was a great deal of truth in the remark," he answers, with an amused laugh, while Florence glances up triumphantly. "Most fellows do, eh?"