Mrs. Wyatt, caressingly.—"Oh, yes, it would; I'm sure it would."
Constance.—"You can tell it then, mamma."
Mrs. Wyatt.—"No; you, my dear. You tell it so funnily; and"—in a lower tone—"it's so long since your father heard you laugh."
Constance.—"There was nothing funny in it. It was disgusting. I was laughing from nervousness."
Mrs. Wyatt.—"Why, Constance"—
General Wyatt.—"Never mind, Margaret. Another time will do." He chooses to ignore the coldness of his daughter's bearing toward himself. "I came to see if Constance were not strong enough to go out on the lake this morning. The boats are very good, and the air is so fine that I think she'll be the better for it. Mr. Bartlett is going out to the island to sketch, and"—
Constance.—"I don't care to go."
Mrs. Wyatt.—"Do go, my daughter! I know it will do you good."
Constance.—"I am not strong enough."
Mrs. Wyatt.—"But you said you were better, just now; and you should yield to to your father's judgment."