“In many things they are, and, queerly enough, in directions where men are bigoted. But in matters of dress and sentiment, they are often prodigiously intolerant.” “Having been deceived by a girl,” said she, with a sweet laugh, “it is perfectly fair that you should _have at_ the whole sex.” “Pray,” I entreated earnestly, “pray don’t refer to that piece of folly. Had I met you before I met Conny, it never could have happened.” She curtsied, perhaps to hide a little blush; and then asked me if I had ridden since my return from Thistlewood. “I haven’t had time yet: but I shall hope to do so frequently now that you are here. And we’ll have some pistol-shooting too, if you like.” “Oh, Papa objects, so I mean to give up the unmaidenly pastime.” “You are very dutiful. Perhaps, on the whole, it _is_ rather unmaidenly, especially when you take aim at sober-minded and meditative young gentlemen.” “Am I _never_ to be allowed to forget my nonsense!” she exclaimed, looking annoyed. “And am I never to be allowed to forget mine?” I answered. “But I’ll enter into an agreement with you, Theresa, never to remind you of _your_ nonsense, if you will promise never to remind me of mine.” “I agree.” “So then, my wrong-headed _penchant_ for Conny is to be forgotten as if no such a thing had ever been?” “Well, I’ll do my best to forget.” “I am afraid you will never see anything to like in me until you _do_ forget.” “Why do you say that?” she asked, quickly. “No girl can possibly have any respect or regard for a man she considers a flirt.” “Oh, if you _will_ have your theories about your sex, it is better, for your peace of mind, that they should not be contradicted.... Here’s the phaeton!” Yes, there it was, Conny next the coachman, Curling and his _beau-père_ behind. The two cousins kissed each other profusely--in short, as only young girls _can_ kiss. Nothing could surpass Theresa’s gracefully cordial reception of little Conny, and her polite greeting to Mr. Curling. Conny looked bewitchingly pretty. She gave me her hand and smiled at me with her eyes. Ah, my child, those smiles can’t affect me now. Don your loveliest airs, strike your most irresistible attitude, you would find in me an unmoved spectator. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed. I can watch you as one at a puppet-show. Tender is the tint of your cheeks, heavenly the azure of your eyes, snow-like your pearly teeth; but to me, my dear, you are no more than a cunning contrivance of beauty; the sweetest dummy, from which I can turn away with the lightest sigh, to think that I could ever have been so weak as to bestow a thought upon you. She left us to seek her mamma, and then we got talking, as people not absolutely at their ease will talk--about the weather. Theresa was admirably lady-like in her manner to Mr. Curling. The poor fellow was a good deal embarrassed, but all things considered acquitted himself very tolerably.