“If I were a woman I could never honour a man who was bald.”
“His locks are somewhat scanty; but he has a strong sense of duty.”
“I know that,” shouted Gerald. “It oozes out of him whenever he gets hot, just like gum.”
“He’s a County Councillor, and he makes speeches about the Union Jack, and he’s virtuous.”
“I know that too. He simply reeks of the ten commandments: they stick out all over him, like almonds in a tipsy cake.”
“My dear Gerald, Edward is a model; he is the typical Englishman as he flourishes in the country, upright and honest, healthy, dogmatic, moral—rather stupid. I esteem him enormously, and I ought to like him much better than you, who are a disgraceful scamp.”
“I wonder why you don’t.”
“Because I’m a wicked old woman; and I’ve learnt by long experience that people generally keep their vices to themselves, but insist on throwing their virtues in your face. And if you don’t happen to have any of your own, you get the worst of the encounter.”
“I think that’s what is so comfortable in you, Aunt Polly, that you’re not obstreperously good. You’re charity itself.”
“My dear Gerald,” said Miss Ley, putting up an admonishing forefinger, “women are by nature spiteful and intolerant; when you find one who exercises charity, it proves that she wants it very badly herself.”