"I can understand that. I've felt it in your lectures. You're so much wiser than most people."
"What rubbish!" he said with a laugh, wondering again if she were sincere. "Much less, very much less wise than most people."
"If you tell me that I'll be wishing you'd not come. I'm counting everything on your being wiser than other people—and shining—like your lectures. But Louis once said that people usually think much better than they can do—"
"That was very penetrating of Louis," he said. Then—"I hope I don't disappoint you. I do—most people. Women especially—"
"Do you? Why?" she said with her puzzled frown.
"I suppose it's because I'm what you called, in your letter, a student of life. I like to understand things—and people. Particularly do I like to understand women. But one finds it impossible to take them seriously, as a rule."
"I don't know many women—" she began.
"And how many men did you say? Two?" he said, smiling. She shook her head.
"I'm afraid I take everyone rather seriously."
"It's a mistake," he said. "I used to. But they disappoint one. When I stopped taking people, women especially, seriously, and made love to them, I found them quite adorable—"