The counselor nodded.
“An acute analysis,” he said.
“I didn’t mean that,” Martin added quickly.
“Of course not.” Roberts was thoughtful. His eyes had assumed a knowing look. His voice was unprofessional and the color in his cheeks had become more prominent. At last, he picked up a card. “What kind of work do you prefer?” he asked.
“I’ve done a good many things.”
“Have you specialized in anything?”
“No.”
“That’s curious. One would think that a young man with your intelligence would——”
Martin interrupted him.
“I’m not intelligent,” he said. “I’m imaginative. Sometimes it gives the illusion of intelligence.” Then, slightly bewildered by his own statement, Martin reflected on this uncalled-for abstraction until he forgot where he was and sat absently, with an appearance so unusual that Roberts, who was watching him keenly, spoke one word half under his breath; and Martin, taken from his musing by the unexpected character of the exclamation, said sharply, “What was that?”