"You think of those who think of you," she said with a faint smile. "I know Mr. Rosier thinks of me."
"He ought not to," said Isabel loftily. "Your father has expressly requested he shouldn't."
"He can't help it, because he knows I think of him."
"You shouldn't think of him. There's some excuse for him, perhaps; but there's none for you."
"I wish you would try to find one," the girl exclaimed as if she were praying to the Madonna.