"Nor I. As far as knowledge goes I haven't any right to speak. Only—the other evening, you expressed such absolute disbelief in yourself—"
"I was perfectly sincere."
"I know you were. That's what made me believe in you."
(Well then, if that was what made her believe in him he would continue to express disbelief in himself.)
She paused. "It's the little men, isn't it, the men of talent, that are always so self-conscious and so sure? I don't know much about it, but it seems to me that genius isn't bound to be like that. It might be so different from your ordinary self that you couldn't be aware of it in the ordinary way. There would always be a sort of divine uncertainty about it."
"I'm afraid I don't agree with you. All the great geniuses have been not only aware of themselves, but most uncommonly certain."
"Still, their genius may have been the part of themselves they understood least. If they had tried to understand it, they would have doubted too."
"There's something in that. You mean genius understands everything—except itself?
"I think that's what I meant."
"Yes; but whether genius understands itself or not, whatever it does, you see, it doesn't doubt."