Eleanor's ignorance of modernity constitutes a special charm in his eyes. How sweet a privilege to build up this uncultured soul, to mould her impressionable spirit! Philip is enamoured of the idea, he sees such vast possibilities stretching out before him. Eleanor differed so widely from the women of his set. Perhaps the weaker sex are made variously that the mind of desultory man, studious of change, and pleased with novelty, may be indulged.
"How long have we known each other?" he asks.
"About three hours," she answers promptly.
"How deep can one go below the surface in one hundred and eighty minutes?"
Eleanor seems bewildered; she is at a loss for words.
"Have I only been with you so short a time?" he says incredulously. "Can it be possible?"
"Does it seem long?" she asks looking down shyly. "Have I wearied you, Mr. Roche?"
His smile reassures her.
"It does not seem long, only full to the brim. To every second a fresh thought, an inch deeper into the unknown."
"I have never met anyone before," she declares frankly, "who spoke to me like that."