You were perfectly right to be annoyed with a man who appeared to be so careless and inconsiderate; but I'm glad you've found out that I wasn't quite as selfish as you thought." Elisabeth stroked his coat sleeve affectionately.

"You are not selfish at all, Chris; you're simply the nicest, thoughtfullest, most unselfish person in the world; and I'm utterly wretched because I was so unkind to you." "Don't be wretched, there's a dear! Your wretchedness is the one thing I can't and won't stand; so please leave off at once." To Christopher remorse for wrong done would always be an agony; he had yet to learn that to some temperaments, whereof Elisabeth's was one, it partook of the nature of a luxury--the sort of luxury which tempts one to pay half a guinea to be allowed to swell up one's eyes and redden one's nose over imaginary woes in a London theatre.
"Did you mind very much when I was so cross ?" Elisabeth asked thoughtfully.
Christopher was torn between a loyal wish to do homage to his idol and a laudable desire to save that idol pain.

"Of course I minded pretty considerably; but why bother about that now ?" "Because it interests me immensely.

I often think that your only fault is that you don't mind things enough; and so, naturally, I want to find out how great your minding capacity is." "I see.

Your powers of scientific research are indeed remarkable; but did it never strike you that even vivisection might be carried too far--too far for the comfort of the vivisected, I mean; not for the enjoyment of the vivisector ?" "It is awfully good for people to feel things," persisted Elisabeth.
"Is it?
Well, I suppose it is good--in fact, necessary--for some poor beggars to have their arms or legs cut off; but you can't expect me to be consumed with envy of the same ?" "Please tell me how much you minded," Elisabeth coaxed.
"I can't tell you; and I wouldn't if I could.