It seemed almost as if she had set herself the task of making me like her in spite of my prejudices.

My reason told me that this could not be; it was merely her fancy for Mother which caused her to notice me at all; she had as much as said so more than once.

But I did like her; I acknowledged it in my thoughts; and, after she had gone, the room, with its drawn shades, seemed doubly dark and gloomy.

Mother was silent for a few minutes and I, too, said nothing.

Then: "She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe," said Mother.
She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble.