It's a shame you didn't fall into the pit, because I feel like you would have met someone down there. An incapacitated gentleman is the only kind who enjoys your company.
Oh, is that so? I hadn’t realised you had any incapacities of your own – but it makes sense that your outward demeanour is all facade for a man of many debilities and infirmities. After all, you enjoy my company so much that you evidently cannot stop thinking of me for a moment.
You are infuriating. My thoughts do not revolve around you in the slight, but I can understand of course, why you must think that. You crave my attention. Or maybe it's any attention from a bachelor? (Especially from one like myself, who any debutante would be lucky to share a name with once I take a wife.) I suppose it's only natural when one lacks the refinement to captivate on merit alone. Tell me, how is that smile working out for you now?
Don’t you dare suppose me some cheap whore, nor pretend that I lack merit just because I will not settle for less than I deserve. I would be quite happy if you had fallen in the pit and been left there, so that I would have some peace from your persistent owling of me.
If you would like to see me again this badly, you could just say so Careful. I doubt your future wife will much like you obsessing over my smile all the time.
Fine, I will not owl you again. You may do so when you miss me, but being as the utmost gentleman that I am, I will respect your wishes. All your letters will go straight into the fire.
Careful, I don't think your future husband will enjoy you. My future wife will be more beautiful than you, but that's an easy feat. It's easy to see you haven't used your birthday gift.
She had never said nor written so strong a word before, but she had heard Raphael use it once – and she was still so offended by the cheek of his last letter that it really was the only one that felt fitting. And if it was going to go in the fire anyway...