"Too beautiful," Harry persisted deliberately; "too beautiful to be good company."
"That will not serve, sir. You are not so inflammable. Being more in the nature of a tortoise."
"If you had a flaw or so: if your nose had a twist; if your cheeks had felt the weather; if—I fear, ma'am, I grow intimate. In fine, if you were less fine, you would be a comfort to a man. But as it is—permit the tortoise to keep in his shell."
"I advise you, Mr. Boyce—I resent this."
Harry bowed. "I dare to remind you, ma'am—I did not demand the conversation."
"The conversation!" Her eyes flashed. "What do I care if a lad's impudent? Perhaps I like it well enough, Mr. Boyce. There is more than that between you and me. You have done me something of a service, and you'll not let me avow it nor pay you. Well?"
"Well, ma'am, you're telling the truth," said Harry placidly.
The lady made an exclamation. "I shall bear you a grudge for this, sir."
"I am vastly obliged, ma'am."
The lady drew back a little and looked at him full, which he bore calmly. "I suppose I am beneath Mr. Boyce's concernment."