He. They know their own sex too well to be willing to marry a woman.
She. But men are such selfish creatures!
He. You are amazingly pretty when you toss your head that way. It is worth coming from New York to see.
She. It is well you think so; otherwise you might consider your voyage a waste of time.
He. What, with the certainty of your consenting to marry me?
She. I like your assurance! Why should I marry you?
He. I supposed that with your sex the fact of my amazing attachment would be a sufficient reason.
She. Your knowledge of our sex is then remarkably limited. Apparently, whether I happen to love you is of no particular consequence.
He. Oh, love is said to beget love.
She. But you love me, you say, because I amuse you. Now you don’t amuse me in the least, and as I do not know just how to cultivate a passion simply on the rather doubtful ground of your affection, especially with the chance of its being transient, there really seems to be very little chance of reciprocity.