"To decorate, as I have, my plain speech. But if that is true, is it not a compliment?"
"And do I care for your compliments? I have compliments in abundance, and much finer ones than yours. What I want from you is the truth, your real opinion of that little volume in your hand. You are the only man I have met in years who seems to feel no desire to flatter me, to make me think well of myself. I see no reason why I should not think well of myself; but, all the same, I am curious. I can see that you judge me impartially, even severely."
She paused. He did not look up or disclaim; he went on turning the pages of the little volume.
She had not seated herself; she was standing beside a table opposite him. "I can see that you do not in the least like me," she added, in a lower tone.
"My dear lady, you have so many to like you!" said Ford.
And then he did look up; their eyes met.
A flush came to her cheeks. He shut the little book and rose.
"Really, I am too insignificant a victim," he said, bowing as he returned it.
"You mean that I—that I have tried—"
"Oh no; you do it naturally."