Her unexpected insistence annoyed her visitor, and he was silent again, meeting her eyes with reserve and on the point of telling her that he didn't like her tone. But he had his tongue under such control that he was able presently to say instead of this—and it was a relief to him to give audible voice to the reflexion—"It's a great mistake, either way, for a man to be in love with an actress. Either it means nothing serious, and what's the use of that? or it means everything, and that's still more delusive."
"Delusive?"
"Idle, unprofitable."
"Surely a pure affection is its own beautiful reward," Mrs. Rooth pleaded with soft reasonableness.
"In such a case how can it be pure?"
"I thought you were talking of an English gentleman," she replied.
"Call the poor fellow whatever you like: a man with his life to lead, his way to make, his work, his duties, his career to attend to. If it means nothing, as I say, the thing it means least of all is marriage."
"Oh my own Miriam!" Mrs. Rooth wailed.
"Fancy, on the other hand, the complication when such a man marries a woman who's on the stage."
Mrs. Rooth looked as if she were trying to follow. "Miriam isn't on the stage yet."