Isabel pouted. She did not like to be scolded; she was not accustomed to it. "I did mean it. I'd as soon talk to a man with a hobby as a man with a conscience. They are both boring."
"You wouldn't; and you do yourself an injustice when you say things like that."
Isabel felt really cross; now and then Paul's superiority irritated her, and she kicked against it. This was one of the occasions.
"I wish a touch of human nature was added to the thousand and one excellencies which beset you," she said; "it would make you more amusing in this world, without in the least interfering with your chances for the next."
"I am human enough, goodness knows!"
"No, no, my dear sir; believe me, you flatter yourself. You are a rechauffé of King Arthur and Jack the Giant-killer, flavoured to taste with extracts from the Fairchild Family."
Paul smiled somewhat grimly. "Nevertheless you were kind enough to select me as your future husband."
"Not 'unless I might have another for working-days; your grace is too costly to wear every day,' but you will be just the thing for Sundays."
"You are very cross this afternoon," said Paul, trying to be pleasant, "but now you are coming for a walk with me, and that will do you good."
"No, I'm not."