“Undoubtedly. You have found some one more than your match and cannot give in graciously.”
But being dull I made no answer, till at last, seeing he made no effort to continue, I asked,—
“And who may my match be?”
He shook his head.
“If I told you it might be such a blow to your conceit that you would scarce recover from it.”
I did not reply. He rose.
“You are losing your one redeeming quality,” he went on. “You never have an answer ready. When you die we shall raise you a monument and it shall say, ‘Here lies one who died silently after talking loudly,’ and all those who go by will shake their heads and say it was a bad practice. But come, let us be off. I wish you to see the great city; for though you may not know it, I like you better than you think.”
“I am flattered;” and not even dulness could keep bitterness away.
“Now,” said he, when we were outside, “I propose that instead of taking our journey slowly we take it with the greatest possible speed. There is nothing to see on the way but what one may see every day; that is, of course, if one has the wherewithal to travel. What do you propose?”
“I am, as you know, quite at your service. Quickly or slowly, it is all the same to me.”