"I've had a feeling from the very first that you didn't really like him--that you really never liked him.
Sometimes you've seemed to be friendly with him, and you'd laugh with him over something in a jolly, companionable way, and I'd think I was wrong, and that you really did like him, after all; but to-night I'm sure my other feeling was the right one: you don't like him.

I can't understand it, dear; I don't see what can be the matter." "Nothing's the matter." This easy declaration naturally failed to carry great weight, and Isabel went on, in her troubled voice, "It seems so queer, especially when you feel as you do about his daughter." At this, George stopped unlacing his shoes abruptly, and sat up.

"How do I feel about his daughter ?" he demanded.
"Well, it's seemed--as if--as if--" Isabel began timidly.

"It did seem--At least, you haven't looked at any other girl, ever since they came here and--and certainly you've seemed very much interested in her.
Certainly you've been very great friends ?" "Well, what of that ?" "It's only that I'm like your grandfather: I can't see how you could be so much interested in a girl and--and not feel very pleasantly toward her father." "Well, I'll tell you something," George said slowly; and a frown of concentration could be seen upon his brow, as from a profound effort at self-examination.

"I haven't ever thought much on that particular point, but I admit there may be a little something in what you say.