"
"You don't appreciate your own good fortune," said he. "Most
human beings--all but a very few--have to be in the slave
classes, in one way or another. They have to submit to the
repulsive drudgery, with no advancement except to slave
driver. As for women--if they have to work, what can they do
but sell themselves into slavery to the machines, to the
capitalists? But you--you needn't do that. Nature endowed
you with talent--unusual talent, I believe. How lucky you
are! How superior to the great mass of your fellow beings who
must slave or starve, because they have no talent!"
"Talent?--I?" said Susan. "For what, pray?"
"For the stage."
She looked amused. "You evidently don't think me vain--or
you'd not venture that jest."
"For the stage," he repeated.
"Thanks," said she drily, "but I'll not appeal from your verdict."
"My verdict? What do you mean?"
"I prefer to talk of something else," said she coldly,
offended by his unaccountable disregard of her feelings.
"This is bewildering," said he. And his manner certainly
fitted the words.
"That I should have understood? Perhaps I shouldn't--at
least, not so quickly--if I hadn't heard how often you have
been disappointed, and how hard it has been for you to get rid
of some of those you tried and found wanting."
"Believe me--I was not disappointed in you." He spoke
earnestly, apparently with sincerity.
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