"And would you like that?" she asked. "Would the plain heiress like to hear her lover declare that his only motive in offering her marriage was to get her money? Would the father like to hear that the reason of his son's affection is that he may not be forgotten in his will? Life is a great mirage. Let it alone—pray, let it alone. Don't pour the light of truth on it, or it will vanish like a rainbow when the storm is over."
"I thought, Mrs. Fraser, you were so enamoured of truth?"
"Yes, among my friends. It pleases me to speak the truth, and I choose to hear the truth spoken. I hate compliments, and fine language, and the gingerbread splendour of politeness, as it is called. But it is not because I love truth that I would rob the world, which I hate, of the pleasure of telling lies."
"You spoke of my weakness just now. What weakness did my face or behaviour illustrate?"
"Impatience."
"Nothing worse?"
"If I had remarked anything worse, I should have let you go away."
"Allow me to open this gate. You will come and see my flowers?"
"It would not be fair in me to refuse you after keeping you waiting so long."
I held the gate open. She passed from her garden into mine.