“A perfect comedy, I am sure. I must say, however, that I'd feel sorry for the girl I loved if she didn't happen to love me.”
“And why, pray?”
“Because,” he said, turning abruptly and looking straight into her eyes, “she'd have the trouble and distinction of surrendering in the end.”
“You vain, conceited thing!” she exclaimed, a trifle disconcerted. “You overestimate your power.”
“Do you think I overestimate it?” he demanded, quickly.
“I don t—don't know. How should I know?” she cried, in complete rout. In deep chagrin she realized that he had driven her sharply into unaccountable confusion, and that her wits were scattering hopelessly at the very moment when she needed them most.
“Then why do you say I overestimate it?” he asked, relentlessly.
“Because you do,” she exclaimed, at bay.
“Are you a competent judge?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, grasping for time.