"Inevitably," said May.
"For heaven's sake don't drift into thinking that you're the only person who can understand him. Once think that about anybody and you're his slave."
"Perhaps I'm the only person who takes the trouble. I don't claim genius, only diligence."
"Well, you're very diligent," Morewood grunted.
She sat looking straight in front of her for a few moments in silence, while Morewood admired the curve of her chin and the moulding of her throat.
"I feel," she said in a low voice and slowly, "as if I must see what becomes of him and as if it ought to be seen at close quarters."
Then Morewood spoke with deliberate plainness.
"You know better than I do that he's not of your class; I mean in himself, not merely where he happens to come from. And for my part I'm not sure that he's an honest man, and I don't think he's a high-minded one."
"Do you believe people are bound to be always just what they are now?" she asked.
"Thinking you can improve them is the one thing more dangerous to yourself than thinking you've a special gift for understanding them. To be quite plain, both generally end in love-affairs and, what's more, unhappy love-affairs."