"Perhaps I could," said Paul, and laughed gently at her look of surprise.
"Of course I know you are only laughing at me," she said in an injured tone. "You never think I am serious about anything."
"My dear Miss Katharine," he assured her, "on the contrary, I think you are most terribly serious about everything. I have never had so much serious conversation since I was nineteen myself. You will have to grow older, before you learn to be young and frivolous."
"But you are not frivolous," she protested. "You know you are not. You only say that to tease me."
"I only say it to convince you. It is not my fault if you do not understand, is it?"
"I do understand, I am certain I do. At least"—she paused suddenly, and looked at him with one of her long critical looks. "Perhaps you are right, and I don't understand you a bit. How queer! I don't think I like the feel of it." She ended with a little gesture of distaste.
"I shouldn't bother about it, if I were you," said Paul calmly. "You will understand better when you are older—and younger. Meanwhile, it is very pleasant, don't you think?"
She was leaning forward with her hands folded under her chin, and did not answer him.
"What made you choose to be a barrister?" she asked suddenly.
He shrugged his shoulders.