"No," she said reflectively; "you don't succeed in expressing those. Do you try?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. They offend me."
"You!" she exclaimed, surprised into facing him with lifted brows, "you might have said they would offend a woman."
"I might have, years and years ago!" he replied; "but that passed with other elevating superstitions of one's youth. Since then I've observed an unpleasant variety in admirations, but have yet to meet the offended woman. No, a woman may call you a fool for your flummery, or even think you one; but she'll give you every opening to repeat the folly."
The surprise in Lettice Nevern's eyes grew more serious.
"You think a man should never tell a woman that he admires her?" she said.
"He needn't appraise her to her face like a fat ox in a show-pen! unless—oh, well, unless, I suppose, she likes it."
"And then?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, then, one might say, she's qualified for the show-pen. Let him tie on the ticket."