Perhaps your deliberate opinion could influence.

.

." "You want Miss Moorsom to give it up ?" The professor turned to the young man dismally.
"Heaven only knows what I want." Renouard leaning his back against the balustrade folded his arms on his breast, appeared to meditate profoundly.

His face, shaded softly by the broad brim of a planter's Panama hat, with the straight line of the nose level with the forehead, the eyes lost in the depth of the setting, and the chin well forward, had such a profile as may be seen amongst the bronzes of classical museums, pure under a crested helmet--recalled vaguely a Minerva's head.
"This is the most troublesome time I ever had in my life," exclaimed the professor testily.
"Surely the man must be worth it," muttered Renouard with a pang of jealousy traversing his breast like a self-inflicted stab.
Whether enervated by the heat or giving way to pent up irritation the professor surrendered himself to the mood of sincerity.
"He began by being a pleasantly dull boy.

He developed into a pointlessly clever young man, without, I suspect, ever trying to understand anything.