She looked at him, heavy-eyed, silent. She yawned slightly, murmured an excuse, rubbed her eyes with her forefinger.
“Which is your principal object in life, fame or fortune?” he inquired, smiling.
“Are those the principal objects in life?” she asked, so naïvely that he suspected her.
“Some believe that love is more important,” he said. “Do you?”
She rested her pale cheek on her hand: “No,” she said.
“Then what is your principal object in life?” he asked, watching her intently.
“I think, more than anything, I desire education.”
His surprise was followed by further suspicion. Her reply sounded too naïve, too moral. He became wary of the latent actress in her.
She sat there huddled up, brooding, gazing into the darkness out of haunted eyes.
“Do you think an education is really worth this sort of hardship?” he asked.