"In what way?"
"I don't think you are half so nice."
"How very unkind!"
Of course she was flattered. Of all flattery praise is the coarsest and least efficacious. When you would flatter a man, talk to him about himself, and criticise him, pulling him to pieces by comparison of some small present fault with his past conduct;—and the rule holds the same with a woman. To tell her that she looks well is feeble work; but complain to her wofully that there is something wanting at the present moment, something lacking from the usual high standard, some temporary loss of beauty, and your solicitude will prevail with her.
"And in what am I not nice? I am sure I'm trying to be as nice as I know how."
"Down at Humblethwaite you are simply yourself,—Emily Hotspur."
"And what am I here?"
"That formidable thing,—a success. Don't you feel yourself that you are lifted a little off your legs?"
"Not a bit;—not an inch. Why should I?"
"I fail to make you understand quite what I mean. Don't you feel that with all these princes and potentates you are forced to be something else than your natural self? Don't you know that you have to put on a special manner, and to talk in a special way? Does not the champagne fly to your head, more or less?"