I dare say you do, judging from what I've seen of you.

At any rate, I've promised.

But I just want you to understand that I'm not going to mean one single bit of it.

I don't like you--I can't endure you!--and if I'm nice, it will just be because I've promised Aunt Phoebe.

You're not to take my politeness at its face value, for back of it I shall dislike you all the time." Grant's lips twitched, and there was a covert twinkle in his eyes, though he looked around him with elaborate surprise.
"It's early in the day for mosquitoes," he drawled; "but I was sure I heard one buzzing somewhere close." "Aunt Phoebe ought to get a street roller to smooth your manners," Evadna observed pointedly.
"Instead it's as if she hung her picture of a Christmas angel up before the wolf's den, eh ?" he suggested calmly, betraying his Indian blood in the unconsciously symbolic form of expression.