"I think so," said Effie.
III
Gibson had been talking a long time to Phœbe. They were sitting together on the beach, under the shadow of the cliff. He was trying to form Phœbe's mind. Phœbe's mind was deliciously young, and it had the hunger and thirst of youth. A little shy and difficult to approach, Phœbe's mind, but he had found out what it liked best, and it pleased him to see how confidingly and delicately it, so to speak, ate out of his hand.
He puzzled her a good deal. And she had a very pretty way of closing her eyes when she was puzzled. In another woman it would have meant that he was boring her; Phœbe did it to shut out the intolerable light of knowledge.
"Ah!—don't," he cried.
"Don't shut my eyes? I always shut my eyes when I'm trying to think," said Phœbe.
He said nothing. That was not what he had meant when he had said "Don't."
"Am I boring you?" he said presently. His tone jarred a little on Phœbe; he had such a nice voice generally.
"No," said she. "Why?"
"Because you keep on doing that."