She goes about all the time with such a dreadful face, and she won't tell me.

Oh, Aunt Sylvia, is it because you don't want me to marry Horace ?" Sylvia spoke, hardly moving her thin lips.

"I have nothing whatever against your marriage," she said.

"I did think at first that you were better off as you were, but now I don't feel so." "But you act so." Rose stumbled to her feet and ran sobbing out of the room.
Henry turned to his wife, who sat like a statue.

"Sylvia, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said, in a bewildered tone.