"You will never see it, Mildred. I don't see why you should take so for granted that I would accept him."
"You will never meet a man who has so few disagreeable qualities. He is probably not enormously rich. I don't know what is the pay of a captain in the navy—"
"It's a relief to find there is something you don't know," Kate Theory broke in.
"But when I am gone," her sister went on calmly, "when I am gone there will be plenty for both of you."
The younger sister, at this, was silent for a moment; then she exclaimed, "Mildred, you may be out of health, but I don't see why you should be dreadful!"
"You know that since we have been leading this life we have seen no one we liked better," said Milly. When she spoke of the life they were leading—there was always a soft resignation of regret and contempt in the allusion—she meant the southern winters, the foreign climates, the vain experiments, the lonely waitings, the wasted hours, the interminable rains, the bad food, the pottering, humbugging doctors, the damp pensions, the chance encounters, the fitful apparitions, of fellow-travellers.
"Why should n't you speak for yourself alone? I am glad you like him, Mildred."
"If you don't like him, why do you give him orangeade?"
