You oughtn't to be here; you ought to be in England in your comfortable home with Wiggleswick and your books and inventions.

You're too good for me, and I'm hateful.

I know it, and it drives me mad." He took her hand in his turn and held it for a second or two in both of his and patted it kindly.
"I'll go out and buy something," he said.
When he returned she was penitent and glad to see him; and although he brought her as a present a hat--a thing of purple feathers and green velvet and roses, in which no self-respecting woman would be seen mummified a thousand years hence--she neither laughed at it nor upbraided him, but tried the horror on before the glass and smiled sweetly while the cold shivers ran down her back.
"I don't want you to say funny things, Septimus," she said, reverting to the starting point of the scene, "so long as you bring me such presents as this." "It's a nice hat," he admitted modestly.

"The woman in the shop said that very few people could wear it." "I'm so glad you think I'm an exceptional woman," she said.

"It's the first compliment you have ever paid me." She shed tears, though, over the feathers of the hat, before she went to bed, good tears, such as bring great comfort and cleanse the heart.