I _won't_ be dictated to.

If I'm not twenty-one, I'm old enough to choose my own friends; and if Buntingford chooses to boycott them, he must take the consequences." And throwing her white arms above her head, her eyes looked out from the frame of them--eyes sparkling with pride and will.
Mrs.Friend begged for an explanation.
"Well, I happened to tell him that I had invited Lord Donald for Sunday.
I'll tell you about Lord Donald presently--and he simply--behaved like a brute! He said he was sorry I hadn't told him, that he couldn't have Donald here, and would telegraph to him to-morrow--not to come.

Just think of that! So then I said--why?
And he said he didn't approve of Donald--or some nonsense of that sort.

I was quite calm.

I reminded him he had promised to let me invite my friends--that was part of the bargain.