“Your profession is crawling with them. It needs delousing. It’s all squirming with parasites. They carry moral leprosy. They poison audiences. Some day the public will kill them.”
Eris stood up and linked her arms in Annan’s: “It’s so stupid,” she said “—a wonderful art—and only in its infancy—and already almost monopolised by beastly people.... Well, there are men like Frank Donnell.... And, as for the rest of us—as far as I can judge the vast majority among us appreciate decency and have every inclination toward it.... I don’t know a woman in my profession who leads an irregular life from choice.”
“It’s that or quit, sometimes, I suppose,” he said gravely.
“I’ve heard so.... Before I knew anything I used to hold such a girl in contempt, Barry. I know better, now.”
“With all your passion for learning,” he said, “did you ever suppose there was such sorry wisdom to acquire?”
“Oh, yes. I guessed, vaguely. One can’t live in a little village without guessing some things.... Or on a farm without guessing the rest.... It’s best to know, always.... Lies shock me; but, do you know, truth never did. Truth has frightened me, disgusted, angered, saddened me. But it never shocked me yet.... I’m afraid you think me hardened——”
His arm drew her and she turned swiftly to his lips—in full view of Hattie in the dining-room beyond.
“I don’t care,” whispered Eris, her cheeks scarlet, “—she ought to guess what we are to each other by this time.”
As he seated her he said: “If she does know she knows more than I do, Eris.... What are we to each other?”
He took his chair and she laughed at him.