“Inga, I believe you’re going to win,” he said slowly. She smiled and, looking at him, nodded confidently.
“Lucky you got hold of me when you did,” he said, in a burst of confidence. “Something else was getting a pretty tight grip on me—might have been too late soon.” How completely the longing still awoke in him at times, he did not tell her. His mind went back to the thoughts she had just expressed, and he said, “You know, your ideas surprise me.”
“How so?”
“Wonder where you got them. After all, though, that’s human nature, woman nature,” he said, with a reflective smile, “to take knowledge from one man to help another.”
“What do you mean?” she said, drawing back.
“You’ve heard others say those things, I suppose,” he said. “What’s his name, the young fellow who was here before? Champeno, that’s it. I suppose when you straighten me out, you’ll go on to the next with what I’ve taught you.”
The question, which came with the swiftness of a sword-thrust, and the quick concentration of his glance visibly upset her, so much so that he hastened to say:
“Why, there’s nothing wrong in my saying that, is there?”
She frowned and finally said: “But I don’t see what reason you have for thinking such things.”
“I’m frankly curious about you, Inga,” he said abruptly.