“I don’t know. I can’t tell what I shall do till I get there. Clairvoyants are often wrong: they foresee what is likely. I am not fond of what is likely: it is always dull. I do what is unlikely.”
“Ah, there you tell me a secret. When once I knew what people in general would be likely to do, I should know you would do the opposite. So you would have come round to a likelihood of your own sort. I shall be able to calculate on you. You couldn’t surprise me.”
“Yes, I could. I should turn round and do what was likely for people in general,” said Gwendolen, with a musical laugh.
“You see you can’t escape some sort of likelihood. And contradictoriness makes the strongest likelihood of all. You must give up a plan.”
“No, I shall not. My plan is to do what pleases me.” (Here should any young lady incline to imitate Gwendolen, let her consider the set of her head and neck: if the angle there had been different, the chin protrusive, and the cervical vertebrae a trifle more curved in their position, ten to one Gwendolen’s words would have had a jar in them for the sweet-natured Rex. But everything odd in her speech was humor and pretty banter, which he was only anxious to turn toward one point.)
“Can you manage to feel only what pleases you?” said he.
“Of course not; that comes from what other people do. But if the world were pleasanter, one would only feel what was pleasant. Girls’ lives are so stupid: they never do what they like.”
“I thought that was more the case of the men. They are forced to do hard things, and are often dreadfully bored, and knocked to pieces too. And then, if we love a girl very dearly we want to do as she likes, so after all you have your own way.”
“I don’t believe it. I never saw a married woman who had her own way.”
“What should you like to do?” said Rex, quite guilelessly, and in real anxiety.