“Never mind,” she said. “Tell me about your success. I believe I can guess what it is. You have written some learned book, which has set all the medical authorities of Europe in an excitement. And you are the new light of the day.”
“Not quite. Don’t laugh at me, please. I dare say my success won’t sound much to you. It is only that some papers of mine have attracted attention, and I have been invited to contribute a series to one of the first scientific journals of the day. The subject is not directly connected with my own profession, but indirectly it bears upon the very branch of it that I have studied more than any other. So it will be no loss of time to me in any way.”
“I do consider it a success—a great success!” exclaimed Cicely. “And what a reward for your past labours to find that they have been all in the right direction! How I envy you! If it were not so commonplace, I think I should sometimes say that I wished I were a man.”
“Don’t say it,” said Mr. Guildford; “but not because it is commonplace. You needn’t mind that.”
“Why must I not say it, then?”
“Because—because it isn’t womanly,” he answered, smiling at his own words.
Cicely smiled too.
“I suspect,” she said, “that your interpretation of that word is as arbitrary as most men’s. And your notions about women are just as inconsistent and unreasonable as—as—”
“As theories on subjects one knows very little about usually are?” he suggested. “Perhaps so. Please remember, however, I only make theories for myself, not for the rest of the world.”
The stable clock in the distance struck three.