"You look astonished," she concluded, "but nowadays revolt is a synonym of intelligence. As for me I revolt against stupid traditions and conventions. They are to me like those hideous horse-hair sofas and chairs upon which our grandfathers sat so stiffly. What? Good wear in them? I dare say they served their purpose, but now they are banished to obscure lodging-houses."
Mark repeated some of her phrases to Tommy Greatorex.
"She's as clever as she can stick," Tommy admitted, "but it's surface cleverness, like surface water, tricklings from a thousand sources more or less polluted. She's interested in you because you are different from—the others. Of course you're not interested in her—apart from her profession, I mean. I sent you to her because I knew you would be proof against her sorceries—the witch. Hullo!"
Mark was scarlet.
"I say—you're not interested, are you? She's a wrong 'un. I warned you."
"She has good in her."
Greatorex laughed.
"Good? A needle in a haystack. Seriously, Mark, you mustn't burn your fingers. Lord! I was so sure of you. I foresaw that you would excite her curiosity and interest; I knew that she would like you, as I said, better than your play. In a word I pulled the strings, but I thought I should make her dance, not you."
"She has been very kind to me."
"What have you been to her? Tell me to mind my own business, if you like. It's not worth minding, but that doesn't matter."