"Apart from the fact that it was bad form of you to canter down a hill and thus imperil Satan's rheumatic joints, I hope you don't intend the comparison to extend to the rider," I rebuked her.
"No," pursing her lips, "you handle a horse well—a little finicky, perhaps, as if you were riding in a park. All told, you compare quite favourably with Mr. Winkle"—this with a most merry twinkle.
"I was once in love with Arabella Allen," I remarked solemnly.
"Isn't that just like a man? She is better than some of the impossible good-goody ones, though. Now, I'll bet, Ted, you thought David Copperfield's Agnes adorable?"
"She was my first love."
"Oh, men make me so angry!" she exclaimed fervently. "They put a silly doll on a pedestal and think that the pattern of what a woman should be."
"How old are you, Helen?"
"Eighteen, Ted."
"Therefore you are old enough to know what a man's woman should be."
"Ted, I hate sarcasm, especially from a boy, on the subject of women."