"Blair! why don't you answer me?"
Blair, plainly bored, said, "Well, I don't like hideousness and dirt."
"David likes Mercer."
"I bet Mrs. Richie doesn't," Blair murmured, and began to row lazily.
"Oh, Mrs. Richie!" cried Elizabeth; "you think whatever she thinks is about perfect."
"Well, isn't it?"
Elizabeth's lip hardened. "I suppose you think she's perfect too?"
"I do," Blair said.
"She thinks I'm dreadful because, sometimes, I—get provoked,"
Elizabeth said angrily.
"Well, you are," Blair agreed calmly.