other day, as we were talking, she tapped the edge of her Ivanhoe with a slate-pencil—for she is also studying the Greatest Common Divisor—and said, warningly, "You must not make epigrams; for if you succeeded you would be brilliant, and everything brilliant is tiresome."
“Who is your authority for that epigram, Miss Sylvia?” I said, laughing.
“Don’t you suppose that I have any ideas but what I get from books?”
“You may have all wisdom, but those sayings proceed only from experience.”
“I have my intuitions; they are better than experience.”
“If you keep on, you will be making epigrams presently, and then I shall find you tiresome, and go away.”
“You couldn’t. I am your guest. How unconventional I am to come over and sit in your arbor! But it is Georgiana’s fault.”