‘That is not the question,’ he cried impatiently. ‘I should certainly take no important step in life without consulting you. I am to understand, then, that you object?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘To my marrying?’
‘No, James. To your marrying a person in Miss Vere’s position.’
Forster rose to his feet with an angry exclamation.
‘Her position is as good as mine. I am a clod, she is a genius.’
‘She is not a lady,’ returned Margaret, compressing her lips firmly.
‘Good heavens, what do you mean? There is not a whisper against her, she is divinely gifted, all the world is raving about her. Not a lady! she is a queen!’
Margaret smiled—a cold sickly smile of supreme feminine pity. Irritated by the smile, and driven out of his usual reticence by the wine he had taken at supper, Forster took a rapid turn round the room, and then, turning back to his sister, cried in a voice broken with agitation—
II thought you above these shameful prejudices. The profession of an actress is one of the noblest under the sun. The same insane bigotry which still pursues theatrical performers persecuted until lately all the arts, literature and painting more particularly. At the bottom of it all is the Church—the Church which denied Adrienne Lecouvreur Christian burial, and which from the beginning of time has been the enemy of light, freedom, knowledge.’