“Entirely novel.”
“And what's to be the end of it?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Going to marry her?”
“Marry!” I exclaimed. “I have told you we are not even lovers. Dick, I cannot tell you what my feeling is towards her, because I do not know it myself. Yes, perhaps it is love. She has virtues; I have told you them—her truth, her high spirit, her—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Dick, with something of his old brutality, “you've given me the list already. Let's hear her faults.”
“She is so full of delightful faults I know not where to begin. Perverse, sometimes inconsiderate, without knowledge of herself. Divide these up into the little faults they give rise to in different circumstances, and you get a picture of an imperfect but charming woman.”
“It is evident you don't know what falling in love means,” said Dick.
I looked at him hard.
“Do you?” I asked.