"Do I? Like what? No odiously inoffensive comparisons, if you please."
"Well, I have heard people say like—like a blister on the back of the neck."
Goring laughed. "Thanks. That's better."
"The patient's using language, but he won't really tear it off, because he knows that would hurt him more, and the blister will do him good in the end, if he bears with it."
"But there's the blister's side to it, too. It's infernally tiring for a blister to be sticking on to such a fellow everlastingly. It'll fly off of itself before long, if he doesn't look out. Hullo! What am I saying? I suppose you'll have all this out in some confounded paper—'The Rebel Member Returns. A Chat with Mr. Goring'—Don't do that; but I'll give you some other copy if you like."
"You're very kind in giving me all this copy. What shall I do with it? Shall I keep it as a memento?"
"No, no. You can sell it; honor bright you can."
"Can I? Shall I get much for it? Enough money to buy me a tiara, do you think?"
"Do you really want to wear the usual fender? Now, why? I suppose because you aren't sufficiently aware how—" he paused on the edge of a compliment which seemed suddenly too full-flavored and ordinary to be addressed to this strangely lovely being, with her smile at once so sparkling and so mysterious. He substituted: "How much more distinguished it is to look like an Undine than like a peeress."
Mildred seemed slightly taken aback.