"No," she remarked, "that is true: you haven't, of course."
He was silent. He did not enjoy being amusing at all, and he made no pretence of appearing to submit to the indignity calmly.
She bent forward a little.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "you are mad again—I mean, you are vexed. I am always vexing you."
There was a hint of appeal in her voice, which rather pleased him; but he had no intention of relenting at once.
"I confess I am at a loss to know why you laughed," he said.
"Are you," she asked, "really?" letting her eyes rest upon him anxiously for a moment. Then she actually gave vent to a little sigh. "We look at things so differently, that's it," she said.
"I suppose it is," he responded, still chillingly.
In spite of this, she suddenly assumed a comparatively cheerful aspect. A happy thought occurred to her.
"Lucia would beg your pardon," she said. "I am learning good manners from Lucia. Suppose I beg your pardon."