I explode at the tragic meaning of his tone.
"Often," I say, merrily, "shoals of times; but that is not half so bad as being sent to bed. However"—reassuringly—"he has not done it now for ever so long—not since I have been engaged to you."
"I should hope not, indeed," hotly. "Phyllis, why won't you marry me at once? Surely you would be happier with me than—than—living as you now do."
"No, no," edging away from him; "I would not. I am not a bit unhappy as I am. You mistake me; and, as I told you before, he never does it now."
"But it maddens me to think of his ever having done so. And such pretty little ears, too, so pink and delicate! Of all the unmanly blackg—- I beg your pardon, Phyllis: of course it is wrong of me to speak so of your father."
"Oh, don't mind me," I say, easily. "Now you are going to be my husband, I do not care about telling you there is very little love lost between me and papa."
"Then why not shorten our engagement? Surely it has now lasted long enough. There is no reason why you should submit to any tyranny when you can escape from it. If you dislike your father's rule, cut it and come to me; you don't dislike me."
"No; but I should dislike being married very much indeed."
"Why?" impatiently.
"I don't know," I return, provokingly; "but I am sure I should. 'Better to bear the ills we have, et cetera.'"