“A Play.”
“Listen to the child! A Play!”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Listen, Hannah,” I said. “It is not what is outside of us that matters. It is what is inside. It is what we are, not what we eat, or look like, or wear. I have given up everything, Hannah, to my Career.”
“You’re young yet,” said Hannah. “You used to be fond enough of the Boys.”
Hannah has been with us for years, so she gets rather talkey at times, and has to be sat upon.
“I care nothing whatever for the Other Sex,” I replied hautily.
She was opening my suitcase at the time, and I was surveying the chamber which was to be the seen of my Literary Life, at least for some time.
“Now and then,” I said to Hannah, “I shall read you parts of it. Only you mustn’t run and tell mother.”
“Why not?” said she, pearing into the Suitcase.