I am not in the least offended. (He pauses and puts
his hat down again.) I am always willing to be told of my own defects,
Mr. Valentine, by my friends, even when they are as absurdly mistaken
about me as you are. I have many faults---very serious faults---of
character and temper; but if there is one thing that I am not, it is
what you call a prig. (She closes her lips trimly and looks steadily
and challengingly at him as she sits more collectedly than ever.)
VALENTINE (returning to the end of the garden seat to confront her
more emphatically). Oh, yes, you are. My reason tells me so: my
knowledge tells me so: my experience tells me so.
GLORIA. Excuse my reminding you that your reason and your knowledge
and your experience are not infallible. At least I hope not.
VALENTINE. I must believe them. Unless you wish me to believe my
eyes, my heart, my instincts, my imagination, which are all telling me
the most monstrous lies about you.
GLORIA (the collectedness beginning to relax). Lies!
VALENTINE (obstinately). Yes, lies. (He sits down again beside
her.) Do you expect me to believe that you are the most beautiful woman
in the world?
GLORIA. That is ridiculous, and rather personal.
VALENTINE. Of course it's ridiculous. Well, that's what my eyes
tell me. (Gloria makes a movement of contemptuous protest.
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