She studied him carefully, as though calculating in him all his capacity of suffering and all his need of praise.
“You’re too sensitive—you’ll be changed too easily by what people tell you.”
“You mean, criticism will hurt me?”
“No, no; their praise.”
“Flattery.”
“Yes.”
“So you think I’ll give in to flattery, do you?” he said, with the exaggerated gruffness he used when he pretended to be angry.
She nodded without yielding an inch.
“Yes; it means so much to you—oh, I’m serious. There are so many things, new ideas in you. Work them out yourself; don’t let any one else know what you’re thinking—not even me—until you get where you want.”