“You are very angry, Cousin Mary. Let us wait till—”
“No, no. It was you who began, and I will not let you off now.”
“Very well, then. I did mean something of the sort. It is better to tell you than to keep it to myself.”
“Yes; and now tell me your reasons,” said Mary, looking down and biting her lip. Tom was ready to bite his tongue off, but there was nothing now but to go through with it.
“You make everybody that comes near you think that you are deeply interested in them and their doings. Poor Grey believes that you are as mad as he is about rituals and rubrics. And the boating men declare that you would sooner see a race than go to the best ball in the world. And you listened to the Dean's stale old stories about his schools, and went into raptures in the Bodleian about pictures and art with that follow of All Souls'. Even our old butler and the cook—”
Here Mary, despite her vexation, after a severe struggle to control it, burst into a laugh, which made Tom pause.
“Now you can't say that I am not really fond of jellies,” she said.
“And you can't say that I have said anything so very disagreeable.”
“Oh, but you have, though.”
“At any rate I have made you laugh.”