again. I gazed at her with admiration. She was the first beautiful woman I remembered to have seen whose personal appearance was positively improved by getting into a temper.
"You're laughing at me all the time; you haven't a spark of human feeling in you!" This was an outrageous charge. At that moment I would have given a great part of what I possessed to have been able to take her in my arms. "What I've endured this night no tongue can tell, no pen describe. I've gone through enough to make my hair turn white. Hasn’t it turned white?"
"It certainly hasn't. It's lovely hair."
"Lovely?" She stopped, to look at me; seeing something in my countenance—she alone knew what it was—which made her put her hands up to her face, and burst again into tears. "Oh, Mr. Paine!"
My name, as it came from her lips, was a wail which cut me to the heart. Her agitation was making me agitated too. I had only one resource.
"Now, Miss Purvis, this kettle is really boiling."
"If you say another word about that kettle I'll knock it over!"
The small virago was facing me, the tears running down her cheeks, her small fists clenched, as if, on that point at least, she was capable of being as good as her word.
"Knock it over by all means, Miss Purvis, if it pleases you. I—I only want to give you pleasure."
"Mr. Paine!"
Up went her hands again.
"Don't do that. I—I can't bear to see you cry."
"Then why are you so unkind?"
"I don't know; it's my stupidity, I suppose; it's far from my intention to be unkind."
"I know! I know! I'm a nothing and a nobody; an impertinent creature who has come to bother you
