Christian's colour deepened. "Go on with your history, Greta."

"Only," pursued Greta, "that he always tells you all about things,
Chris."

"He doesn't! How can you say that!"

"I think he does, and it is because you do not make him angry. It is
very easy to make him angry; you have only to think differently, and he
shall be angry at once."

"You are a little cat!" said Christian; "it isn't true, at all. He hates
shams, and can't bear meanness; and it is mean to cover up dislikes and
pretend that you agree with people."

"Papa says that he thinks too much about himself."

"Father!" began Christian hotly; biting her lips she stopped, and turned
her wrathful eyes on Greta.

"You do not always show your dislikes, Chris."

"I? What has that to do with it? Because one is a coward that doesn't
make it any better, does it?"

"I think that he has a great many dislikes," murmured Greta.

"I wish you would attend to your own faults, and not pry into other
people's," and pushing the book aside, Christian gazed in front of her.