"Impossible for me to answer without more data for my calculations. You must tell me, to begin with, how many you have been in the habit of flattering daily!"
"None, I assure you—there is not a more sincere creature under the sun."
"I do not quite believe you—but if you will not own to that—with how many do you consider yourself a particular favorite."
"That is an artful question—you wish to prove me guilty of general agreeableness—but my native modesty stands my friend there: I do not think more than two thirds of my acquaintance consider me a very charming fellow—amongst ladies, I mean—of course, a man's opinion goes for nothing."
"Ah, that is too many by half to please me—if you had always spoken with sincerity, depend upon it your particular admirers would be less numerous."
"But seriously, Miss Watson, why do you feel a particular enmity to the general favorites of your sex!"
"Seriously then, because I mistrust them."
"You think then truth must be sacrificed to popularity? Is not that rather a severe reflection on the taste of other women."
"I did not mean it as such."
"I never knew any one who did not profess to hate flattery."