_He._ None whatever; otherwise I should be continually hampered by the necessity of conforming my actions to my words. You can see yourself how inconvenient that would be. _She._ For one who has had so little practice, very likely; but then you would find it a novel experience, I have no doubt. _He._ Ah, you have given me an idea. I'll try it when all other novelties in life are exhausted. _She._ Don't put it off too long, or from the force of habit you may find it impossible. _He._ You underrate my adaptability. _She._ Meanwhile I wish to know why you came. _He._ Since you are here yourself, you might be supposed to regard the place as sufficiently interesting to attract the traveller. _She._ Then you decline to tell me? _He._ Oh, no; I came because you amuse me. _She._ Thank you for nothing. _He._ And consequently I am in love with you, as I did myself the honor to mention before you left New York. _She._ Am I to understand that amusement is your idea of love? _He._ Love certainly must be something that does not bore one. _She._ But it seems a somewhat limited view to take. _He._ Oh, it is only one way out of many; I assure you I have quantities of ideas upon the subject, all founded upon experience. I loved Lottie Greenwell because she made a glorious champagne cup. Indeed, for ten days I positively adored her, until one night she put in too much curaçoa, and I realized how uncertain a foundation my passion had. Then there was Elsie Manning. My passion for her was roused entirely by her divine waltzing, but I realized that it isn't good form for a man to waltz with his wife, and I stood a much better chance if she married some other man. After that came Kate Turner; she writes so fascinating a letter that I lost my heart every time I saw her handwriting on the back of an envelope, although perhaps that feeling you would call only a fancy, since nobody would think of marrying on a virtue that is sure to end with the wedding. A wife never writes to her husband about anything but the servants and the payment of her milliner's bills; so my flirtation with her wouldn't really count as a love affair. _She._ You excel in nice metaphysical distinctions. _He._ Then there was Miss French. I loved her because she snubbed me,--just as I loved Nora Delaney for her riding, and Annie Cleaves for her music. _She._ And now you love me, I am to understand, as suited to the position of court jester to your Royal Highness. _He._ One must have some sort of a reason for being in love. _She._ But one needn't be in love. _He._ Oh, yes; life is very dull otherwise; and besides, I have always thought it very stupid to marry without having been in love a dozen times at least. One is apt to lose his head otherwise; and how can he judge of the value of his passion without having had a good deal of experience? _She._ So you advertise yourself as a marrying man?