This would irritate him intensely.

He would say: "You'll know me next time, Mary." She would blush crimson and then, with trembling mouth, answer: "I wasn't looking." "Yes, you were." "No, I wasn't." "Of course, you were--staring as though I were an Indian or Chinaman.

If my face is dirty, say so." "It isn't dirty." "Well, then--" "You're always so cross." "I'm not cross--only you're so silly--" "You usen't always to say I was silly.

Now you always do--every minute." "So you are." Then as he saw the tears coming he would get up and go away.

He didn't mean to be unkind to her; he was fond of her--but he hated scenes.
"Mary's always howling about something now," he confided to Helen.
"Is she ?" Helen answered with indifference.