"Thank you."
"Your M. La Touche is a pleasant little fellow, Rose. You and he have my best wishes for your future happiness."
"The 'pleasant little fellow' and myself are exceedingly obliged to you!" her eyes flashing; "and now, Mr. Stanford, if you have said all you have to say, suppose we go back?"
"But I have not said all I have to say, nor half. I want to know why you are going to marry him?"
"And I want to know," retorted Rose, "what business it is of yours?"
"Be civil Rose! I told you once before, if you recollect, that I was very fond of you. Being fond of you, it is natural I should take an interest in your welfare. What are you going to marry him for?"
"For love!" said Rose, spitefully.
"I don't believe it! Excuse me for contradicting you, my dear Rose; but I don't believe it. He is a good-looking lamb-like little fellow, and he is worth forty thousand pounds; but I don't believe it!"
"Don't believe it, then. What you believe, or what you disbelieve, is a matter of perfect indifference to me," said Rose, looking straight before her with compressed lips.
"I don't believe that, either. What is the use of saying such things to me?"