Desire laughed. He had observed with wonder, amounting almost to awe, that she never giggled.
"Score one for me!" She turned grey, mirthful eyes on his. "Amn't I learned? I read it in an article in an old Sociological Review—a copy left here by a man whom father—well, we needn't bother about that part of it. But the article was wonderful. I can't remember who wrote it."
"Trotter, perhaps,—yes, it would be Trotter," murmured the professor.
Desire swung round upon her heels, regarding him a trifle wistfully.
"I should like to know all that you know," she said. "All the strange things inside our minds."
"Would you? But if you knew what I know you would only know that you knew nothing at all."
"Yes, it's all very well to say that," shrewdly, "but you don't mean it. Besides, even if you don't know anything, you have glimpses of all sorts of wonderful things which might be known. You can go on, and it's the going on that matters."
"But I can't carry wood."
A little smile curled the corners of Desire's lips. He did not see it because she had turned to the fire again and, with that deliberate unself-consciousness which characterized her, was proceeding to unpin and dry her hair. Spence had not seen it undone before and was astonished at its length and lustre. The girl shook it as a young colt shakes its mane, spreading it out to the blaze upon her hands.
"I know what you mean, though," admitted Spence, "there is nothing like the fascination of the unknown. It very nearly did for me."