"You really have been so sweet, so patient, it's my opinion that you are an angel!"
"Oh, indeed I'm not!"
"Well, you have the patience of one. You never think about yourself. You're all kindness and sweetness and thought for other people. To speak perfectly frankly, you have only one tiny fault, Flora. And that is, that you seem a little artificial. But it's my opinion that such affectations as you have are natural to you and you can't help them, and you would be an ideal wife."
Flora was actually silent with gratification. She did not even laugh.
"Look here, Flora, we'd better chuck the performance altogether. Let's give it up, and have a show instead at St. George's, Hanover Square."
"Are you making fun of me?" she asked, in a trembling voice, "because that would not be right. It wouldn't be nice of you—in fact, it would be rather cruel."
"You don't mean to say you care for me the least little bit?" He took both her hands and stared hard at her face. "Is there something real about you then?" he continued.
Tears came to her eyes. She turned her head away.