"I
don't say you'd LIKE to do it. You wouldn't: you'd hate
it. And the natural alternative would be to try to persuade
me that I'd be better off somewhere else than here. But
supposing that failed, and you saw I was determined to stay?
THEN you might think it your duty to tell Mrs. Leath."
She laid the case before him with a cold lucidity. "I
should, in your place, I believe," she ended with a little
laugh.
"I shouldn't feel justified in telling her, behind your
back, if I thought you unsuited for the place; but I should
certainly feel justified," he rejoined after a pause, "in
telling YOU if I thought the place unsuited to you."
"And that's what you're trying to tell me now?"
"Yes; but not for the reasons you imagine."
"What, then, are your reasons, if you please?"
"I've already implied them in advising you not to give up
all idea of the theatre. You're too various, too gifted,
too personal, to tie yourself down, at your age, to the
dismal drudgery of teaching."
"And is THAT what you've told Mrs. Leath?"
She rushed the question out at him as if she expected to
trip him up over it. He was moved by the simplicity of the
stratagem.
"I've told her exactly nothing," he replied.
"And what--exactly--do you mean by 'nothing'? You and she
were talking about me when I came into her sitting-room
yesterday."
Darrow felt his blood rise at the thrust.
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