"No," she said.
He sat, comfortably. Confidently. "You're quite beautiful," he said.
Her eyes scanned the room. "There are a number of pretty women here."
"I hadn't noticed."
She demurred. "Good answer."
He gestured. "I try."
"But maybe you're not as observant as you think."
He smiled. "I recognize uncommon beauty."
"Perhaps."
Then he grinned, slyly. "Or maybe this side of the bar is just better lit."
"Lighted," she said.
He shook his head. "Lighted... Being a bit persnickety?"
"Nice ten-dollar word," she said.
"Yours was an eight-dollar."
"And perhaps I am."
"But you'll forgive my faux pas?"
"I suppose," she said.
"I don't often make mistakes," he said, then before she could respond, added, "Grammatical mistakes."
"I'm a stickler," she said. "But since you seem to be contrite, I'll forgive your mistake."
"Contrite," he said. "Ah, yes, I'm contrite."