She shook her head doubtfully. "I'm a poor hand at dissembling."
"It's an art you should study," said he. If we begin by feigning an emotion, we're as like as not to end by genuinely feeling it."
I've observed for myself," she informed him, "that if we begin by genuinely feeling an emotion, but rigorously conceal it, we’re as like as not to end by feeling it no longer. It dies of suffocation. I've had that experience quite lately. There was a certain person whom I heartily despised and hated; and then, as chance would have it, I was thrown two or three times into his company; and for motives of expediency I disguised my antagonism. In the end, do you know, I found myself rather liking him?"
"Oh, women are fearfully and wonderfully made," he said.
"And so are some men," said she. "Could you oblige me with the name and address of a competent witch or warlock?" she added irrelevantly.
"What under the sun can you want with such an unholy thing?" he exclaimed.
"I want a hate-charm — something that I can take at night to revive my hatred of the man I was speaking of."
"Look here," he warned her, "I’ve not come all this distance under a scorching sun, to stand here now and talk of another man. Cultivate a contemptuous indifference towards him. Banish him from your mind and conversation."
"I’ll try," she consented; "though if you were familiar with the circumstances, you'd recognise a certain difficulty in doing that." She reached for her gloves, and began to put one on. "Will you be so good as to tell me the time of day?"
