When the world smiled on her she laughed: when it frowned, she cried.

When she met Septimus Dix, she flew to him as a child does to a new toy, and spent gorgeous hours in pulling him to pieces to see how he worked.
"Why aren't you married ?" she asked him one day.
He looked up at the sky--they were on the common--an autumn stretch of pearls and purples, with here and there a streak of wistful blue, as if seeking the inspiration of a reason.
"Because no one has married me," he replied.
Emmy laughed.

"That's just like you.

You expect a woman to drag you out of your house by the scruff of your neck and haul you to church without your so much as asking her." "I've heard that lots of women do," said Septimus.
Emmy looked at him sharply.

Every woman resents a universal criticism of her sex, but cannot help feeling a twinge of respect for the critic.