"I agreed with that," she answered with a sly humour.
"So that it hadn't to be reckoned. Do you know all women are like that?"
She considered. His brush made strokes. "Like what?" she asked at last.
"If you pay them the greatest of tributes, but are incautious enough to hint the tiniest of qualifications, the tribute dwindles to nothing, and they remain tremendously annoyed at the suggestion of imperfection."
"Am I like that?"
"You were just now."
"I was such a bother and a hindrance to you when we started," she explained. "I used to get tired every few minutes. And now at last, just when I am flattering myself on my improvement——"
"You take me too seriously," he broke in.
"You were serious," she insisted.
"Serious—yes; in so far as I was afraid you were tired. I didn't even mean it as a qualification of my tribute; it was only genuine concern for you."