"But why?" says Julia, "she is a nice little woman enough, isn't she?"
"Is she? I don't know. To me she is utterly distasteful; such a voice, and such—"
"She is at least gentle and well-mannered," interrupts Roger, unpleasantly.
"Well, yes, there is a great deal in that," says Julia, which innocent remark incenses Dulce to the last degree, as it gives her the impression that Julia is taking Roger's part against her.
"I daresay she is an angel," she says, fractiously; "but I am not sufficiently heavenly-minded myself to admire her inanities. Do you know," looking broadly at Roger, "there are some people one hates without exactly knowing why? It is, I suppose, a Doctor Fell sort of dislike, 'the reason why I cannot tell,' and all that sort of thing."
"I don't believe you can, indeed," says Roger, indignantly.
"Don't you?" says Dulce.
"My dear Roger, if you eat any more sugar, you will ruin your teeth," says Julia. Roger, who has the sugar bowl near him, and is helping himself from it generously, laughs a little. Julia is a person who, if you wore a smoking cap even once in your life, would tell you it would make you bald; or if you went out without a veil, you would have freckles for the rest of your life—and so on.
"Don't eat any more," says Julia, imploringly; "you can't like that nasty white stuff."
"Oh! doesn't he?" says Dulce, sarcastically. "He'd eat anything sweet. It isn't three days ago since he stole all my chocolate creams, and ate them every one."