“But one can hire those things done.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said he to close the subject; but unconsciously his glance traveled round the room, rested here and there for an instant on the evidences of slovenly housekeeping which always disfigure any great house for a critical observer. Her glance followed his. Presently she colored, for she understood. “You are a terrible man,” said she. “You see everything.”
“I wish I did,” replied he, not realizing what she had in mind. “Then I’d paint the picture I dream about.”
“Do you like these people?” asked she.
“Certainly. They seem very nice. They’re most attractive to look at.”
“But you wouldn’t be friends with them?”
“Couldn’t be,” said he. “We have too little in common.”
“Don’t you want any friends?” she said wistfully.
“I have friends. I shall have more. People of my own sort—people who can give me what I want and who want what I have to give.”
“You despise us—don’t you?” cried she.