"No doubt! Of course you are terribly in love."
"Very thoroughly in love, I think, I am."
"For the tenth time, I should say."
"For the second only. I don't regard myself as a monument of constancy, but I think I am less fickle than some other people."
"Meaning me!"
"Not especially."
"Frank, that is ill-natured, and almost unmanly,—and false also. When have I been fickle? You say that there was one before with you. I say that there has never really been one with me at all. No one knows that better than yourself. I cannot afford to be in love till I am quite sure that the man is fit to be, and will be, my husband."
"I doubt sometimes whether you are capable of being in love with any one."
"I think I am," she said, very gently. "But I am at any rate capable of not being in love till I wish it. Come, Frank; do not quarrel with me. You know,—you ought to know,—that I should have loved you had it not been that such love would have been bad for both of us."
"It is a kind of self-restraint I do not understand."