"You were mistaken," he replied coldly, vexed that she had disturbed his sweet love-reverie, and out of mere perversity he refused to drink the draft she proffered, declaring that he was not thirsty.
But if he thought to freeze out his dainty visitor by his indifference he was mistaken. She slipped into the arm-chair by his bed, and began with pretty raillery:
"Miss Farnham made you but a short visit. I fear you did not make a good impression."
"I should be sorry to think so, for in that case I should feel compelled to leave Gray Gables immediately, and be jolted five miles to the nearest hotel," he rejoined maliciously.
"Leave us, Dorian? Indeed, you should not. It would kill you to be moved. Besides, what does it matter what that girl thinks, so long as mama and I are delighted to have you, and to be of service to you?"
"It matters everything, Azalea, since Miss Farnham is the real mistress here. Remember your mama is only her salaried chaperon, and you, like myself, but a transient guest."
Azalea pouted prettily at this rebuke.
"You take pleasure in reminding me of my poverty—you forget the past," she half-sobbed, and he answered impatiently:
"I choose to ignore it, and, pardon me, but it is bad taste in you to recur to it."
"Ah, Dorian, will you never forgive?—never permit me to atone?" she sighed.