"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my
behaviour to _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil,
and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain
than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"
"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very
little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of
deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with
the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking
for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and interested you,
because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really
amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the
pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always
noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the
persons who so assiduously courted you. There--I have saved
you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things
considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be
sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks of
_that_ when they fall in love."
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