His complete stolidity frustrated every effort she made to penetrate beneath the surface.
"If I believed," she went on, "that you were one of those men--the world is full of them, you know--who will help a woman with a reasonable appearance so long as it does not seriously interfere with their own comfort--" "Your sex has nothing whatever to do with it," he interrupted.

"As to your appearance, I have not even considered it.

I could not tell you whether you are beautiful or ugly--I am no judge of these matters.

What I have done, I have done because it pleased me to do it." "Do you always do what pleases you ?" she asked.
"Nearly always." She looked him over again attentively, with an interest obviously impersonal, a trifle supercilious.
"I suppose," she remarked, "you consider yourself one of the strong people of the world ?" "I do not know about that," he answered.

"I do not often think about myself." "I mean," she explained, "that you are one of those people who struggle hard to get just what they want in life." His jaw suddenly tightened and she saw the likeness to Napoleon.
"I do more than struggle," he affirmed, "I succeed.