“But I don't care for politics.”
“Who does? But position. You can afford that if you have money enough. Do you know, Mr. Henderson, I think you are dull.”
“Thank you. I reckoned you'd find it out.”
“The other night at the Nestor ball a lady—no, I won't tell you who she is—asked me if I knew who that man was across the room; such an air of distinction; might be the new British Minister. You know, I almost blushed when I said I did know him.”
“Well?”
“You see what people expect of you. When a man looks distinguished and is clever, and knows how to please if he likes, he cannot help having a career, unless he is afraid to take the chances.”
Henderson was not conscious of ever being wanting in this direction. The picture conjured up by the ingenious girl was not unfamiliar to his mind, and he understood quite well the relation to it that Carmen had in her mind; but he did not take the lead offered. Instead, he took refuge in the usual commonplace, and asked, “Wouldn't you like to have been a man?”
“Heaven forbid! I should be too wicked. It is responsibility enough to be a woman. I did not expect such a banality from you. Do you think, Mr. Henderson, we had better sell?”
“Sell what?”
“Our stocks. You are so occupied that I thought they might fall when you are up in the clouds somewhere.”