“Nothing to you! I would you were to me what I am to you!”
“What is that, pray?”
“An adorer!”
“You are a—very amusing gentleman.”
“You refuse me a glimpse of hope?”
“You would like to have it as a trophy, I suppose. You men treasure the memories of your little conquests over foolish women, as an Indian treasures the scalps he takes.”
“Lord! which sex, I wonder, has the busier scalping-knife?”
“I can’t speak for all my sex. Some of us seek no scalps—”
“You don’t have to. I make you a present of mine. I fling it at your feet.”