"Even though I am a surgeon?"
"Yes, even though you are a surgeon."
"And though you have never seen any of those letters, the liking which secures your approbation?"
"Ah! you are too clever for me—you want to make me contradict myself, or something of that sort—but I will not argue with you, and then you cannot prove me wrong."
"You need not say you will not—you cannot argue; no woman can, they can only feel, and express those feelings."
"And taking the converse of your proposition, Mr. Samuel Watson, I presume that men surpass us so much in argument, because they have no feelings. Am I to infer that?"
"We have them, but we guide them, not they us. It is exactly the reverse with you, and you never see more than one side of a question," replied he, in the most straightforward manner possible.
"Yes; you have some feelings very apparent," replied she, "contempt for women is evidently a prominent one."
"Contempt, Miss Millar! no indeed, you do me injustice, if you think so—but, perhaps, you imagine that a part of my profession?"
"I certainly think it one that hardens all the feelings," said she turning away and thus putting a stop to the conversation. It had been settled that the whole vicarage party were to dine at the Millars' that afternoon, and it now became time for those who did not belong to it, to return home to prepare for dinner. Elizabeth Watson, her brother, and Miss Millar accordingly set off together. Elizabeth taking Sam's arm, and Annie walking on her other side; they made the passage with scarcely a syllable passing between them; and as the Millars' house was nearer the vicarage than the residence of the Robert Watsons, Annie left them at the door of her house.