Lance wondered. '"Don't"? Then what's the use—?'
'The use of what?'
'Why of anything. Don't you think I've talent?'
Peter smoked away for a little in silence; then went on: 'It isn't knowledge, it's ignorance that—as we've been beautifully told—is bliss.'
'Don't you think I've talent?' Lance repeated.
Peter, with his trick of queer kind demonstrations, passed his arm round his godson and held him a moment. 'How do I know?'
'Oh,' said the boy, 'if it's your own ignorance you're defending—!'
Again, for a pause, on the sofa, his godfather smoked. 'It isn't. I've the misfortune to be omniscient.'
'Oh well,' Lance laughed again, 'if you know too much—!'
'That's what I do, and it's why I'm so wretched.'