“Well—brains of a sort.” Now what am I in for? “Sure I guess you have brains. I bet you’re practical in business things.”
“Heavens, no!” she protests. “I can’t do a thing. But I was good at school. I was terribly good in Latin.”
Turn a little on the sofa and smile at her, leaning back. “Ever have any philosophy courses?”
“Of course,” she says promptly. “Three hours a week.”
“And Chapel every morning?”
“Every morning.”
“What did you do in Philosophy? I know about the Chapel.”
“Oh, we studied what all those old birds thought about the world and the mind and reality and those things. And at examinations they asked us to summarize the different points of view.”
“And you had Chapel every day?” you persist. This is something.
“I told you. It was compulsory.”