I have no sympathy to offer you." "I begin to fear, Miss Scott," he said, "that you are not what is called sympathetic." She smiled--and the smile broke into a laugh, as though some transient idea rather than his words had pleased her.
"You should apply to my cousin Selina for that," she said.

"Every one calls her most delightfully sympathetic." "Sympathy," he remarked, "is either a heaven-sent joy--or a bore.

It depends upon the individual." "That is either enigmatical or rude," she answered.

"But, after all, you don't know Selina." "Why not ?" he asked.

"I have talked with her as long as with you--and I feel that I know you quite well." "I can't be responsible for your feelings," she said, a little brusquely, "but I'm quite sure that I don't know you well enough to be sitting here at tea with you even." "I won't admit that," he answered, "but it was very nice of you to come.
"The fact of it was," she admitted, "my headache and appetite were stronger than my sense of the conventions.