“We have all learned to think much too highly of talent,” said Norman gravely.
“I don’t care for mere talent—people are generally more sensible without it; but, one way or other, there ought to be superiority on the man’s side.”
“Well, who says there is not?”
“My dear Norman! Why, this George Rivers is really below the average! you cannot deny that! Did you ever meet any one so stupid?”
“Really!” said Norman, considering; and, speaking very innocently, “I cannot see why you think so. I do not see that he is at all less capable of sustaining a conversation than Richard.”
Ethel sat down, perfectly breathless with amazement and indignation.
Norman saw that he had shocked her very much. “I do not mean,” he said, “that we have not much more to say to Richard; all I meant to say was, merely as to the intellect.”
“I tell you,” said Ethel, “it is not the intellect. Richard! why, you know how we respect, and look up to him. Dear old Ritchie! with his goodness, and earnestness, and right judgment—to compare him to that man! Norman, Norman, I never thought it of you!”
“You do not understand me, Ethel. I only cited Richard, as a person who proves how little cleverness is needed to insure respect.”
“And, I tell you, that cleverness is not the point.”