He has never even flirted with me.

I give you my word that that is so!" "Ah, but it is just that fact that makes me believe that he cares.
Flirtation is an English art, not a French art, my dear Sylvia.

A Frenchman either loves--and when he loves he adores on his knees--or else he has no use, no use at all, for what English people mean by flirtation--the make-believe of love! I should feel much more at ease if the Count had insulted you--" "Anna!" "Yes, indeed! I am quite serious.

I fear he loves you." And as Sylvia gave a long, involuntary, happy sigh, Anna went on: "Of course, I do not regard him with trust or with liking.

How could I?
On the other hand, I do not go as far as the Wachners; they, it is quite clear, evidently know something very much to the Count's discredit." "I don't believe they do!" cried Sylvia, hotly.