"Do not blame Oxford for that; there was nothing in the least like you in the mathematics that I studied at the 'Varsity. They were dull, stupid things, with reason in them."
"How horrid!"
"And when you put two and two together they invariably came to four," continued Paul, "can you imagine anything more tame and uninteresting?"
"Nothing. Now what is the result of putting two and two together when you are dealing with me?"
Paul thought for a moment; then he said: "Sometimes five and sometimes a million; one can never tell; all one can tell for certain is that the result never will be four. The only conclusion it is never safe to arrive at in dealing with a woman is the only logical one."
"Which do you like best—me or mathematics?"
"My dear child, what an absurd question!"
"Which do you?" persisted Isabel.
Paul grew serious. "When I was at Oxford I liked classics better than mathematics, and rowing better than both of them; after I left the 'Varsity, I began to care about power and success and fame more than about rowing; now I love you more than power and success and fame put together, with all the kingdoms of the world thrown in."
"My dear old boy!"