“If you were a Jesuit,” said she, “you would try to convert me.”
“St. Ignatius never wasted time over insincere women.”
“I am not insincere,” she said frankly. “I own I may seem so. But you are not kind, and some day you may be sorry for this.”
Her eyes filled with tears—which he noticed and attributed to fatigue.
“I wonder how men ever accomplish anything!” she exclaimed.
“Why?”
“They have no insight. They mistake self-control for coldness, and despair for flippancy. Isn't that the case?”
“One can be light and true as well as light and false. Now you are witty, beautiful, brilliant—but you don't always ring true.”
She seemed confused for a minute, and hung her head.