"I wish you were a widow. You would suit me in every way."
"Hush!" I said, frowning. "I do not like you to speak so, even in jest."
"But I always told you I loved you," he said, resignedly.
"Nonsense. What is this ridiculous love you all speak about? A silly passion that only wants what it cannot have, or, if it succeeds, immediately translates itself to some one else. You told me so yourself. You said at least you were not wearyingly faithful—you, as a class."
"How you confute one with argument, lovely lady! I shall call you
Portia. But what an adorable Portia!"
"Now stop," I said, severely. "I would rather hear your views on morality and religion than the rubbish you are now talking."
"I have never been more snubbed in my life. Even Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet did not flatten me out as you do," he said, with feigned resentment.
"You told me in the beginning I looked unlike the Englishwomen. Well,
I am unlike them. I am a person of bad nature. I refuse to be bored."
"And I bore you?"
"Only when you talk silly sentiment."