"You are very coy, Mr. Boyce," said the lady.

Harry replied, with the servile laughter of a dependent, "Oh, ma'am, you
are mocking me."

"Tit for tat"--Alison's eyes had some fire in them.

"Tat, ma'am?"

"Lud, now, don't be tedious. Sir, the house of Waverton is entranced by
your splendid father: and Charles Hadley (as usual) is entranced by
himself. You have no audience Mr. Boyce. Stop acting, and tell me--what
is wrong with me?"

Harry considered her with calm criticism. "It's not for me to tell Miss
Lambourne that she is too beautiful."

"Indeed, I thought you had more sense."

"Too beautiful," Harry persisted deliberately; "too beautiful to be
good company."

"That will not serve, sir. You are not so inflammable. Being more in the
nature of a tortoise."

"If you had a flaw or so: if your nose had a twist; if your cheeks had
felt the weather; if--I fear, ma'am, I grow intimate. In fine, if you
were less fine, you would be a comfort to a man. But as it is--permit the
tortoise to keep in his shell."