“Ask my father.”
“How does he know what thou thinkest?”
“Well, he always does,” said Beatrice, calmly fastening the blue silk on the wrong side of the material.
“Wilt thou not tell me thyself?”
“I should, if I wanted to be rid of thee.”
The distance between the two occupants of the form was materially lessened.
“Then thou dost not want to be rid of me?”
“I can work while I am talking,” replied Beatrice, in her very coolest manner.
“Why dost thou think I came, Beatrice?”
“Because it pleased thee, I should think.”