"Perhaps I am ungenerous," said Deronda, not apologetically, however. "Yet it can't be ungenerous to warn you that you are indulging mad, Quixotic expectations."
"Who will be hurt but myself, then?" said Hans, putting out his lip. "I am not going to say anything to her unless I felt sure of the answer. I dare not ask the oracles: I prefer a cheerful caliginosity, as Sir Thomas Browne might say. I would rather run my chance there and lose, than be sure of winning anywhere else. And I don't mean to swallow the poison of despair, though you are disposed to thrust it on me. I am giving up wine, so let me get a little drunk on hope and vanity."

"Perhaps I am ungenerous, but I warn you that you are indulging mad, Quixotic expectations."
"Who will be hurt but myself, then?" said Hans. "I am not going to say anything to her unless I am sure of the answer. I am giving up wine, so let me get a little drunk on hope and vanity."
