'Very.'
She smiled a little maliciously and asked.—
'Who are you?'
'I'm a queer fish.... I've wasted my life in expecting more from people than they had to give, and in offering them more than they needed.'
'You look tired.'
'I am tired—tired out.... You're not really an actress.'
'I'm paid for it if that makes me one.'
'I mean—you are not playing a part now. Actresses never stop. They take their cues from their husbands and lovers and go on until they drop. Their husbands and lovers generally kick them out before they do that.... The ordinary woman is an actress in her small way, but you are not so at all.... I can't place you. What are you doing in London? You ought not to be in London. You ought to leave us stewing in our own juice.'
The waitress brought them tea and the orchestra flung itself into a more outrageous effort than before.
'Ragtime and you!' he went on. 'They don't blend. Ragtime is for tired brains and jaded senses, for people who have lost all instinct and intuition. What have you to do with them? You will simply beat yourself to death upon their hard indifference.... You are only a child. You should be packed off home.'