"Well? What do you want to make me see?"
"What you've done already to that unhappy woman."
"Unhappy? She's considerably happier than she was when I first knew her."
"That's it," she said, "that's just it. Where are your eyes? Can't you see she's in love with you?"
He did not meet her advancing gaze.
"What makes you think so?" he said.
"The way she talks about you."
He smiled. "You don't allow for picturesque exaggeration."
"My dear, when a woman exaggerates to that extent it generally means one thing."
"Not with her. She wouldn't do it if it meant that. She'd be afraid to let herself go. And she isn't afraid. She just piles it on because she's so sure of herself—so sure that she isn't what you say she is."