"Oh, more or less."
"I adore reading. And poetry. Whose poetry do you like best?"
"I don't know," said Theresa slowly.
She had assured them all of their superiority: they liked her; Mrs. Morton forgot to be nervous, Basil was glad to see her in that group of girls.
Other visitors came and went. Two elderly sisters, adorned with large brooches and pendulous ear-rings, seated themselves before Theresa and told her anecdotes of Morton's childhood. Their voices defied her to rob him of his early virtues, and their looks prophesied her pernicious influence. She liked these ladies with their pleasant acidity: there was resistance in them; but it was with the arrival of Conrad Vincent that enjoyment brightened her eyes and loosed her tongue. He came in slowly and greeted his friends without haste, but when he stood before Theresa she felt the hurry of his mind. Behind the lazy glances of his eyes she saw the racing thoughts and warmed to him. He sat beside her, she turned to him as though at last she could greet a comrade, and the group broke up, leaving them alone.
"Do you know," Morton said, when his guests had gone, "you talked to Vincent for a whole hour?"
"Was it so long? It went in a flash. He is a good talker—provocative. I enjoyed it very much."
"You seemed to do so."
"Do you mind?"
"No dear; but——"