Imogene did not smile. She faintly sighed. "Well, then, I won't go either."
"Did you intend to go?"
"Oh no!"
"Why, of course you did, and it's very right you should. Did you want me to go?"
"It would bore you."
"Not if you're there." She gave his hand a grateful pressure. "Come, I'll go, of course, Imogene. A fancy ball to please you is a very different thing from a fancy ball in the abstract."
"Oh, what nice things you say! Do you know, I always admired your compliments? I think they're the most charming compliments in the world."
"I don't think they're half so pretty as yours; but they're more sincere."
"No, honestly. They flatter, and at the same time they make fun of the flattery a little; they make a person feel that you like them, even while you laugh at them."
"They appear to be rather an intricate kind of compliment—sort of salsa agradolce affair—tutti frutti style—species of moral mayonnaise."