Oh, if papa were here, you wouldn't dare to talk to me like that.

Reginald Stanford, let me go.
I hate you!" For Mr.Stanford had put his arm around her waist, and was looking down at her with those darkly daring eyes.

What could Rose do ?--silly, love-sick Rose.

She didn't hate him, and she broke out into a perfect passion of sobs.
"Sit down, Rose," he said, very gently, leading her to a mossy knoll under a tree; "and, my darling, don't cry.

You will redden your eyes, and swell your nose, and won't look pretty.