Hermione looked at me very gravely.
“Dumps,” she said, “you don’t like her in your heart.”
“Hermione, how dare you say it?”
“You know you don’t. The moment I saw you I was certain of it.”
“I wish you wouldn’t read people like that,” I said.
“I saw it, and I was sorry; for the fact is, you have only known Grace for a little—a very little—time.”
“For two months,” I said.
“And I have known her ever since I have known anybody at all.”
“Then, of course, it is natural that you should be fond of her.”
“Not at all. There are other people I have known, so to speak, from my birth. There is old Mr Chatterton, and there is Mrs Frazer. Now, I detest fussy Mrs Frazer, and I run away a mile from Mr Chatterton. It isn’t the time I have known Grace, but because she is what she is.”