"No good, I'm sure," said I in a bit of a passion, and before I knew it.
"Charlotte!" cried Frederick, and his eyes flashed, as I'd never seen 'em. And then in a moment he looked kind, and I thought sad; and holding out his hand, he said, looking at me and his eyes softening,—"Lotty, love, don't let us quarrel."
My heart was in my throat, and my arm about his neck. "We shall never quarrel, Fred," said I. "But what I meant to say was—what an odd person Mr. Truepenny is."
"Odd? A most excellent fellow!" said Frederick with energy.
"Of course. You wouldn't have any other for a friend: I know that, love. But what I mean is, he's so confused—so bashful."
"Yes. A bachelor's fault. I was so myself once. But it's wonderful what confidence marriage gives a man. Kiss me, my darling."
"There, now, Fred; it's Sunday," said I, not knowing what to say. "But why should Mr. Truepenny be in such a twitter when he sees me? He blushes and stammers, and"—
"It's your beauty, no doubt," said Fred.
"Nonsense!"
"A solemn truth. Ah! my dear, it's a great comfort for timid men that beauty, like the elephant, doesn't know its strength. Otherwise, how it would trample on us! It's a fact, Lotty, if you had only known half your power, you'd never have married me. Certainly not. But then women never do. Looking-glasses are thrown away upon 'em, poor things. When you consented to take me, Lotty, I don't know that I didn't feel quite crushed by your condescension. Quite crushed. Yes: the last knowledge a woman ever acquires is a proper sense of the power of her own beauty. Otherwise, Lotty, they'd never throw it away upon us; but live and die like the roses. Don't you think they would? Like the roses?"