"Perfectly. You mean that if you had seen a man riding by, at the rate of twelve miles an hour, it would at once have formed an opinion as to all the workings of his mind and the meditations of his heart. But my impressions are of slower growth, and I am even dull enough to require some foundation for them." Christopher loved to tease Elisabeth. "I am awfully quick in reading character," remarked that young lady, with some pride. "You are. I never know which impresses me more--the rapidity with which you form opinions, or their inaccuracy when formed." "I'm not as stupid as you think." "Pardon me, I don't think you are at all stupid; but I am always hoping that the experience of life will make you a little stupider." "Don't be a goose, but tell me all you know about Mr. Tremaine." "I don't know much about him, except that he is well-off, that he apparently rides about ten stone, and that he is not what people call orthodox. By the way. I didn't discover his unorthodoxy by seeing him ride by, as you would have done; I was told about it by some people who know him." "How very interesting!" cried Elisabeth enthusiastically. "I wonder how unorthodox he is. Do you think he doesn't believe in anything?" "In himself, I fancy. Even the baldest creed is usually self-embracing. But I believe he indulges in the not unfashionable luxury of doubts. You might attend to them, Elisabeth; you are the sort of girl who would enjoy attending to doubts." "I suppose I really am too fond of arguing." "There you misjudge yourself. You are instructive rather than argumentative. Saying the same thing over and over again in different language is not arguing, you know; I should rather call it preaching, if I were not afraid of hurting your feelings." "You are a very rude boy! But, anyway, I have taught you a lot of things; you can't deny that." "I don't wish to deny it; I am your eternal debtor. To tell the truth, I believe you have taught me everything I know, that is worth knowing, except the things that you have tried to teach me. There, I must confess, you have signally failed." "What have I tried to teach you?" "Heaps of things: that pleasure is more important than duty; that we are sent into the world to enjoy ourselves; that the worship of art is the only soul-satisfying form of faith; that conscience is an exhausted force; that feelings and emotions ought to be labelled and scheduled; that lobster is digestible; that Miss Herbert is the most attractive woman in the world; etcetera, etcetera." "And what have I taught you without trying?" "Ah! that is a large order; and it is remarkable that the things you have taught me are just the things that you have never learned yourself." "Then I couldn't have taught them." "But you did; that is where your genius comes in."