"Oh, how unkind you are," wailed Gwen, who did not expect such a speech. "My heart is broken."
"No, my dear, your vanity is hurt."
"Vanity? I have no vanity."
"Well, well, we will call it pride, self-respect, dignity, or any other pretty name which appeals to you," said Mrs. Perage complacently. "Anyhow, you can't lie here amongst the ruins of your life. Have some breakfast and get up."
"I can't eat and I can't drink. How can you expect me to?" cried Gwen, who was intensely exasperated by this matter-of-fact speech. "You will make me angry, Mrs. Perage."
"I want to, since anger will make you see things in a more sensible light. You can't live on air, you know, my dear, or on love either, especially as this last is nonexistent."
The spirit of contradiction, begotten by anger, made the invalid resent this last remark. "Love isn't nonexistent," she declared crossly. "I love Owain still, although he doesn't deserve my affection in the least. I call it a shame for him to come here and save my life and make me love him, when all the time he is engaged to another girl."
"Who told you that he was?" inquired Mrs. Perage dryly, and very well satisfied with the result her conversation was producing.
"He told me so himself, and I told you how he was," said Gwen incoherently. "He admitted that he had proposed to the nasty daughter of that horrid woman."
"Well," said Mrs. Perage coolly, "a young man must gain experience somehow."