"Good, I'll go and get them." She held out her hand to Oliver. "Then I'll go on up to bed. I really do feel rather bad. Good-night."
He held her hand closely. "You're a nice young minx," he told her, laughing. "I suppose you think I ought to congratulate you on your engagement."
"It's a matter of complete indifference to me whether you do or not."
"Grisel, Grisel!" put in her mother.
Still he held her hand, his critical eyes looking her up and down.
"Good-night," she said again, trying to withdraw her hand.
"You're losing your looks," he declared. "You're too thin, and your eyes are sunk into your head. It won't do, Grisel. You'll have to give in. You used to be the prettiest thing alive, and unless you own up to your old gentleman and confess to me that you can't live without me, you'll soon have to join the sad army of the girls who aren't so pretty as they feel."
She was furiously angry—so angry that she could not speak, and when he suddenly let go her hand, she stumbled back and nearly fell. She left the room without a word, and he sat down and hid his face for a moment in his hands.
Mrs. Walbridge was indignant with him, but somehow she dared not speak, and after a minute he rose.