Beaumaroy made a little grimace, and waited for her to develop her subject.
“Your morality is different from most people’s, and from mine. Mine is conventional.”
“Conventual!” Beaumaroy murmured.
“Yours isn’t. It’s all personal with you. You recognize no rights in people whom you don’t like, or who you think aren’t deserving, or haven’t earned rights. And you don’t judge your own rights by what the law gives you, either. The right of conquest you called it; you hold yourself free to exercise that against everybody, except your friends, and against everybody in the interest of your friends—like poor Mr. Saffron. I believe you’d do the same for me if I asked you to.”
“I’m glad you believe that, Doctor Mary.”
“But I can’t deal with you on that basis. It’s even difficult to be friends on that basis—and certainly impossible to be partners.”
“I never suggested that we should be partners over the money,” Beaumaroy put in quickly.
“No. But I’m suggesting now—as you did before—that we should be partners—in a secret, in Mr. Saffron’s secret.” She smiled again as she added, “You can manage it all, I know, if you like. I’ve unlimited confidence in your ingenuity—quite unlimited.”
“But none at all in my honesty?”
“You’ve got an honesty; but I don’t call it a really honest honesty.”