"And the world will," he went on. "At least, the only part of
it that's important to you--or really important in any way.
The matter of your virtue or lack of it is of no more
importance than is my virtue or lack of it."
"Do you _really_ believe that way?" asked Susan, earnestly.
"It doesn't in the least matter whether I do or not," laughed
he. "Don't bother about what I think--what anyone thinks--of
you. The point here, as always, is that you believe it,
yourself. There's no reason why a woman who is making a
career should not be virtuous. She will probably not get far
if she isn't more or less so. Dissipation doesn't help man or
woman, especially the ruinous dissipation of license in
passion. On the other hand, no woman can ever hope to make a
career who persists in narrowing and cheapening herself with
the notion that her virtue is her all. She'll not amount to
much as a worker in the fields of action."
Susan reflected, sighed. "It's very, very hard to get rid of
one's sex."
"It's impossible," declared he. "Don't try. But don't let it
worry you, either."
"Everyone can't be as strong as you are--so absorbed in a
career that they care for nothing else."
This amused him. With forearms on the edge of the table he
turned his cigarette slowly round between his fingers,
watching the smoke curl up from it. She observed that there
was more than a light sprinkle of gray in his thick, carefully
brushed hair.
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