I wish Grace would let Mr.Quarrier alone; she has always been perfectly possessed to plague him; she seems unable to take him seriously and he simply hates it.

I don't think he'd tolerate her if she were not his cousin.
"I'm awfully sorry," was all Siward said; and for a while he gloomily busied himself with whatever was brought to him.
"Don't look that way," came a low voice beside him.
"Do I show everything as plainly as that ?" he asked, curiously.
"I seem to read you--sometimes." "It's very nice of you," he said.
"Nice ?" "To look at me--now and then." "Oh," she cried resentfully, "don't be grateful." "I--really am not you know," he said laughing.
"That," she rejoined slowly, "is the truth.

You say conventional things in a manner--in an agreeably personal manner that interests women.

But you are not grateful to anybody for anything; you are indifferent, and you can't help being nice to people, so--some day--some girl will think you are grateful, and will have a miserable time of it." "Miserable time ?" "Waiting for you to say what never will enter your head to say." "You mean I--I--" "Flirt?
No, I mean that you don't flirt; that you are always dreamily occupied with your own affairs, from which listlessly congenial occupation, when drawn, you are so unexpectedly nice that a girl immediately desires to see how nice you can be." "What a charming indictment you draw!" he said, amused.
"It's a grave one I assure you.

I've been talking about you to Grace Ferrall; I asked to be placed beside you at dinner; I told her I hadn't had half enough of you on the cliff.