As upon the previous evening, she was solicitous about his food, that it should be of the best, and that he should enjoy it, although apparently indifferent about her own.
“Of course, you will find us quite different from other people, Mr. Henley,” she continued, sipping her coffee (she never seemed to drink or eat anything heartily); “our ideas and manner of living being quite at variance with theirs.”
“Yes,” Paul replied, as if he understood it perfectly. She was toying with her cup as though not knowing exactly how to continue. Presently she looked up at him appealingly, possessed of a sudden idea, and added:
“And what do you think about the brain?”
Paul was astonished at the irrelevancy of the question.
“I think it is in the head,” he answered, smiling, in the hope of averting a difficulty. “That is, I think it ought to be there,” he added in a minute, “although it is doubtless missing in some cases. Still, there can be but little dissent from the general opinion that the skull is the proper place for it.”
She looked puzzled, and Paul began to wonder if he had offended her, but in another moment she relaxed into a smile.
“I'm sure you don't think anything of the kind,” she answered, “for if you do, you're not up to date. The latest investigations have shown that brain matter is distributed throughout the body. No, I'm not joking. We all think more or less with our hands and feet.”
“I've not the slightest doubt of it,” Paul answered, applying himself to his food; “and even if I had,” he continued, “I should never dispute anything you told me.” And then, looking her full in the face, he added: “Do you know, Miss Guir, that you have exerted a most remarkable influence over me? It might not be polite to say that it is inexplicable; but when I recall the fact that no girl ever before, in so short a time—”
He paused for a word, but before he could discover one that was satisfactory, she said: