And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. “I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. She was a swan among geese, trying to look plain and dowdy. “Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John,” he said, holding out a Daily Telegraph.
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