“Since I’ve begun to look at these foreign men seriously,” she went on, “to study them— It’s one thing to size them up, as you say in America, with the idea that they’re mere outsiders—acquaintances—social friends. It’s very different to measure them with a view to serious relations. I’m not altogether a fool—even from your standpoint—am I, Godfrey?”
“Distinctly not,” said I.
“Since I’ve been studying these upper-class men over here—I’ve changed my mind in some respects. I’m not a child, you know. I haven’t done what I’ve done without using some judgment of men and women.” She flooded me with a smile of gratitude. “I owe my judgment to you, Godfrey. You taught me.”
“You never agreed with anything I said—when I did occasionally venture an opinion.”
“Because a woman disagrees and scorns—it doesn’t follow that she isn’t convinced.”
“You’ve changed your mind about these men?” said I, for my curiosity was aroused.
“I find a lack in them. You’re right to a certain extent, Godfrey. They are futile—the cleverest of them. Culture gives a great deal, of course.”
“What?” said I.
“It’s too long and involved to explain. And you don’t believe in it.”
“I’m willing to,” said I. “But first, I’d like to know what it is, and second, I’d like to know what it does. I’ve never been able to get anything but words in answer to either question.”