“I haven’t time to think of trifles,” she said haughtily.
“Cruel Claribelle,” he said. “I shall not send you a letter, not even a post-card.”
“Letters are dull,” she said coldly, “and post-cards are vulgar.”
“You will repent of this some day,” he replied. And he turned and went away in anger.
On the morrow he came once more.
“I have come to say good-bye,” he said.
“Oh!” she replied; but not a word more.
“Aren’t you sorry?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she replied, “because the Farthing Doll put her foot on my dress this morning in passing me, and tore it. She is a clumsy thing.”
“You are trying my patience too far,” he said. “Proud Claribelle, beware! Beware, proud Claribelle!”