“Conscientious.”
“Of course.”
“But too sensitive, too generous, too easily overwhelmed by a sense of obligations—mostly imaginary.”
She continued with her reflections and her strawberries. Finally coffee was served; he lighted a cigarette. Eris had not yet commented upon his final proposition.
“It really depends on the man,” he remarked, “how difficult or how easy a girl’s position is to be. It’s always certain to be difficult if the deal be merely a speculation in friendship and not in business.”
She tasted her coffee: “Yes, it might be—perplexing,” she said.
“You see the possibility of confusion?—gratitude worrying about what is expected of it; dread of reproach for benefits forgot—the mask to choose and wear in the lively hope of benefits to come—no; speculation in friendship is never legitimate gambling. It’s bad business, bad sportsmanship.”
She considered this over her coffee, her serious eyes intent on the flecks of foam in her cup, with which she played with her little silver spoon.
“Do you think,” she said slowly, “that Mr. Smull is taking a legitimate chance in financing my company?”
“You’re a perfectly legitimate risk. I told you so. You’re sure fire.”