“No, it isn’t nonsense. I don’t like him, and I never shall.”
“But why? Have you any good reason?”
“Yes,” said Thisbe with a snort.
“What is it?”
“I told you before. He’s so horrid handsome.”
“Why, you dear, prejudiced, silly old thing!” cried Millicent, whose eyes were sparkling, and cheeks flushed.
“I don’t care if I am. I don’t like handsome men: they’re good for nowt.”
“Why, Thisbe!”
“I don’t care, they arn’t; my soldier fellow was that handsome it made you feel wicked, you were so puffed out with pride.”
“And so you were in love once, Thisbe?”