You may think so, but in reality you are
getting ready for _me_ . . . for your career. You are simply
educating yourself. I shall have you back."
She held the cigarette to her lips, inhaled the smoke deeply,
exhaled it slowly.
"I will tell you why," he went on, as if he were answering a
protest. "Every one of us has an individuality of some sort.
And in spite of everything and anything, except death or
hopeless disease, that individuality will insist upon
expressing itself."
"Mine is expressing itself," said she with a light smile--the
smile of a light woman.
"You can't rest in this present life of yours. Your
individuality is too strong. It will have its way--and for all
your mocking smiling, you know I am right. I understand how
you were tempted into it----"
She opened her lips--changed her mind and stopped her lips
with her cigarette.
"I don't blame you--and it was just as well. This life has
taught you--will teach you--will advance you in your
career. . . . Tell me, what gave you the idea that I was
disappointed?"
She tossed her cigarette into the big ash tray. "As I told
you, it is too late." She rose and looked at him with a
strange, sweet smile. "I've got any quantity of faults," said
she. "But there's one I haven't got. I don't whine."
"You don't whine," assented he, "and you don't lie--and you
don't shirk. Men and women have been canonized for less.
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