"See how she is blushing!" added H. R., unsparingly.
"I'm not blushing," cried Dora, whose cheeks sadly belied her words.
"You are--I believe you do like him!"
Dora rose from her chair. The blood had died out of her face, and she was very white.
"And why," she demanded, her eyes flashing ominously, "shouldn't I like him? Is there any sin in it? When he came you all condemned him, but he has been quite patient and nice and gentlemanly all the time, in spite of the things that have been said to him. Yes, I do like him, and I shall always value this present from him. Please give it to me."
H. R. handed her the fan. "In that case, Dora, dear," she said, cuttingly, "it seems a pity that you are marrying Mr Jefferson to-morrow."
Dora closed the fan and held it tightly to her bosom. Her sister's final remark had brought the blood surging into her face again. "Oh," she cried, "how I hate you, H. R.--yes, hate you!"
And with that she gave a piteous little cry and ran out of the room.
For a few moments there was silence, and then Miss Bird turned her stern, lined face towards the elder sister. "Miss Maybury," she said, "I am ashamed of you."
"Your opinion of me," said H. R., with a forced lightness of tone, "does not concern me at all."