Peter had a pause. "No, rather differently. A poor man doesn't believe in anything the same way that a rich man does."
"Ah don't call yourself poor!" groaned Mrs. Rooth.
"What good would it do me to be rich?"
"Why you could take a theatre. You could do it all yourself."
"And what good would that do me?"
"Ah don't you delight in her genius?" demanded Mrs. Rooth.
"I delight in her mother. You think me more disinterested than I am," Sherringham added with a certain soreness of irritation.
"I know why you didn't write!" Mrs. Rooth declared archly.
"You must go to London," Peter said without heeding this remark.
"Ah if we could only get there it would be a relief. I should draw a long breath. There at least I know where I am and what people are. But here one lives on hollow ground!"