"I know. I've thought of that. But if he isn't a gentleman, he isn't the other thing. He's something by himself.
"I admit he's a genius, but—he drops his aitches."
"He doesn't drop half as many as he did. He only does it when he's flustered. And I won't let him be flustered. I shall be very kind to him."
"Oh," groaned Kitty, "there's no possible doubt about that."
"On the whole I think I'm rather glad he isn't a gentleman. He would be much more likely to get in my way if he were. I don't believe this little man would get in my way. He's got eyes at the back of his head, and nerves all over him; he'd see in a minute when I didn't want him. He'd see it before I did, and be off."
"You don't know. You might have to be very unpleasant to him before you said good-bye."
"No, I should never have to be unpleasant to him; because he would know that would be very unpleasant for me."
"All this might mean that he was a gentleman; but I'm afraid it only means that he's a genius."
"Genius of that sort," said Lucia, "comes to very much the same thing." And Kitty reluctantly admitted that it did. She sat silent for some minutes gazing into the fire.
"Lucia, does it never occur to you that in your passion for giving pleasure you may be giving a great deal of pain?"