"Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr.
Sapling!" she cried.

Mr. Sapling looked it.

"To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and
reflectingly, "you are dreadfully cynical: you hardly
believe in anything at all, and you've utterly no faith
in us poor women."

The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features
of Mr. Sapling into a ray of chastened imbecility, was
distorted in an effort at cynicism.

"Then your next fault is that you are too determined;
much too determined. When once you have set your will on
any object, you crush every obstacle under your feet."

Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but
began to feel calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been
all these things without knowing it.

"Then you are cold and sarcastic."

Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He
succeeded in a rude leer.

"And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing.
You have drained philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at