It was a little piece of reparation, and probably carried her further than she intended. Vincent leaned forward on a chair which stood between them.
“You study here, don’t you?” he asked, with a glance at the books on the table.
“I read here sometimes.”
“I suppose you’re very clever and very learned, Miss Warren?”
She moved her head slightly, and seemed unable to find a ready answer.
“Your contempt for me,” he pursued, “must be unbounded.”
“I don’t allow myself to despise people with whom I am very slightly acquainted,” said Ada; again rather more positively than she had meant. She found such a difficulty in striking with her voice the note corresponding to that which she had in her mind—a difficulty common in people who talk little and think rapidly.
“Well, yes, I suppose there is only a slight acquaintance between us,” admitted Vincent. “Not so much, for instance, as would warrant my jumping in by the window just now. I do things on impulse a good deal.”
“So do I,” said Ada.
“You do? Why, then, there’s a point of contact—of sympathy—it would be better to say, I suppose. There are very few people whom I find sympathetic. Do you fare better?”