I wondered if she had been trying her own hand. The statement did sound so sweeping.
"There's teaching. Look at the lots of governesses that must be wanted."
"Let 'em be wanted. I prefer prussic acid."
"There's drawing for the magazines."
"You might as well talk about drawing for the moon--unless you're a perfect idiot, then you might have a chance."
I felt sure that she had had experiences of her own. Her tone was so extremely bitter.
"And then there are prize competitions. There do seem to be a tremendous number of them about. And some of them for really large prizes."
"Prize competitions!" Nora seemed all at once to have wakened to life and vigour. "Promise you won't split if I tell you something?" I promised. "I believe that all prize competitions are frauds run by robbers. Do you know"--she brought the toasting-fork and coal scoop together with a bang--"that I've gone in for seventy-two of all sorts and kinds, and never won a single prize, not even a consolation. And some of them were hard enough to kill you. I've guessed how much money there was at the Bank of England; how many babies were born on a Tuesday; picked out twelve successful football teams; named three winners at a horse race--"
"Nora!"
"I have--or, at least, I've tried to. Much the largest prizes are offered for that. I've drawn things, written things, calculated things, prophesied things, made things, collected things, solved things, sold things,--once I tried to sell a lot of papers in the village for the sake of the coupons, but no one would buy a single copy. It was a frightful loss. I do believe I've tried my hand at every sort and kind of thing you can think of--and heaps you can't--and, as I say, I've never even won a consolation prize. No more prize competitions for me!"