She--she is _hateful_ to me, not only because of her birth, but in every way.

She is antagonistic to me.
She--would you believe it ?--she has had the audacity to argue with me about little things, as if she--_she,"_ imperiously, "should have an opinion when I was present." "My dear Tessie, we all have opinions, and you know you said yourself that at seventeen nowadays one is no longer a child." "I wish, Margaret, you would cure yourself of that detestable habit of repeating one's self _to_ one's self," says Lady Rylton resentfully.

"There," sinking back in her chair, and saturating her handkerchief with some delicate essence from a little Louis Quatorze bottle beside her, "it isn't worth so much worry.

But to say that she would refuse Maurice----" "Why should she not?
She looks to me like a girl who would not care to risk all her future life for mere position.

I mean," says Margaret a little sadly, "that she looks to me as if she would be like that when she is older, and understands." "Then she must look to you like a fool," says Lady Rylton petulantly.
"Hardly that.