"You don't mean that," said she.
He frowned and retorted angrily: "There's a great deal of truth that we don't like.

Why do you always get mad at me for saying what we both think ?" "I admit it's foolish and wrong of me," said she; "but I can't help it.
And if I get half-angry with you, I get wholly angry with myself for being contemptible enough to think those things.

Don't you get angry at yourself for thinking them ?" Arthur laughed mirthlessly--an admission.
"We and father can't both be right," she pursued.

"I suppose we're both partly right and partly wrong--that's usually the way it is.

But I can't make up my mind just where he begins to be wrong." "Why not admit he's right through and through, and be done with it ?" cried Arthur impatiently.