"I hate your standing opposite me and thinking about me," remarked Jenny suddenly. "I'm sure it's not comfortable, and I don't think it's polite. Besides, after all, it's possible that you might find out something!"
"Surely that 'Besides' is superfluous, anyhow?"
"I don't know—I don't quite trust you. But shall I tell you your mistake? You're too ready to think that I have a reason for everything I do. You're wrong. Where reason comes in with me is about the things I don't do. If you reason about things, most of them look either dull or dangerous. So you let them alone. But if you don't reason, you chance it—either the dullness or the danger, as the case may be."
"A juggle with words! You reason all the same."
"Not always. Sometimes you're—driven."
On her face was a look almost as if she were being driven. I fancied that I might have said too much about deliberate exercises of power in my conversation with the Rector.
"I suppose you'd explain that, if you wished to," I remarked after a pause. "You appear to be as free from being driven as most people. You're pretty independent!"
"I should explain it if I wished—perhaps even if I could. But do you always find it easy to explain yourself—even to yourself, to say nothing of other people?"
"It seems to me that you've only got yourself to please."
"And it also seems to you that that would be very easy?"