Why, you treat me as if I were a superior being.

And I am not; I am a very matter-of-fact girl." He interrupted her with a gesture of dissent, his eyes full of light.
"Nonsense! You don't know me, you don't know men, or you would know that any girl is the superior of the best man," he reiterated.
"You don't know girls," she retorted.
"I know one, at least," he said, with a smile that spoke his admiration.
"I am not sure that you do," she persisted, speaking slowly and very seriously.

She was gazing at him in a curious, reflective way.
"The one I know is good enough for me." He leaned over and shyly took her hand and raised it to his lips, then released it.

She did not resist him, but presently she said tentatively: "I believe I had rather be treated as I am than as something I am not.

I like you too much to want to deceive you, and I think you are deceived." He, of course, protested that he was not deceived.