"What a female Bluebeard you are!"
"Wouldn't you, now, like to meet some new, delightful person every day? Consider how prosaic a man is, after you know all about him."
"I always find something new in a man really worth knowing."
"Do you? I wish I could. I always look them through as I used to my toys. I never cared for my 'crying babies,' after I found out what made them squeak."
"I am afraid the comparison will hold out farther than you intended. You were never satisfied with your toys until you had not only explored their machinery, but smashed them into the bargain."
"But men stand it better than toys. If they get smashed, as you say, they heal wonderfully. I sometimes think, that, like lobsters, they can repair their injuries by new growths,—fresh claws, and fins, and feelers."
"Complimentary, truly! but I notice that you don't speak of vital organs."
"Hearts, you mean, I suppose. That is an obsolete idea,—a relic of superstition."
"But how many of these broken idols have you thrown aside, Marcia? Have you kept account?"
"Dear me! no! Why should I?"