"But suppose the man himself got into trouble—you would wish her to mind about that. Or suppose," added Esther, suddenly looking up merrily at Harold, "the man himself was troublesome?"
"O you must not strain probabilities in that way. The generality of men are perfect. Take me, for example."
"You are a perfect judge of sauces," said Esther, who had her triumphs in letting Harold know that she was capable of taking notes.
"That is perfection number one. Pray go on."
"O, the catalogue is too long—I should be tired before I got to your magnificent ruby ring and your gloves always of the right colour."
"If you would let me tell you your perfections, I should not be tired."
"That is not complimentary; it means that the list is short."
"No; it means that the list is pleasant to dwell upon."
"Pray don't begin," said Esther, with her pretty toss of the head; "it would be dangerous to our good understanding. The person I liked best in the world was one who did nothing but scold me and tell me of my faults."
When Esther began to speak, she meant to do no
