“Don’t you want a career? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“That’s just it. I’m afraid you are going to make me do all the things I do want to! Things I would otherwise just dream of doing!”
“Is that prospect so terrifying?”
“Yes, rather.”
“Poor dear!” She pressed his hand in hers. “I suppose I am a terrible person. I can’t do the things I want to do myself; and so I’m going to insist on your doing them—is that it?”
“I have the feeling that you expect a terrible lot from me,” he said.
“It’s true—I do think you’re rather a wonderful person.”
“I wish you wouldn’t!”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to help it, Felix. You’ll have to take me, enthusiasm and all, my dear! For I’m in love with you, and I do think you are going to be a great man, and I shall continue to, no matter how miserable it makes you feel—so there! I won’t marry a commonplace man, and you’ll have to agree to let me think you out of the ordinary, or the marriage is off!” She tilted her chin defiantly.
“All right, Rose-Ann,” he said. “You may think me as wonderful as you like, if only you’ll not say so out loud. Praise upsets me. I thrive only on contumelious blame! So if you want to put me at my ease, tell me something bad about myself.”