"I wish you to give attention, if not to the affairs—that I cannot expect—of your household, at least to this—you may call it foolish and pooh-pooh it—business of Lætitia and this young man—I really cannot say young gentleman, for it is mere equivocation not to call him a haberdasher."
The Professor resisted the temptation to criticize some points of literary structure, and accepted the obvious meaning of this.
"Tell me what he really is."
"I have told you repeatedly. He is nothing—unless we palter with the meaning of words—but a clerk in the office at the stores where we pay a deposit and order goods on a form. They were originally haberdashers, so I don't see how you can escape from what I have said. But I have no doubt you will try to do so."
"How comes he to be such a magnificent violinist? Are they all...?"
"I know what you are going to say, and it's foolish. No, they are not all magnificent violinists. But you know the story quite well."
"Perhaps I do. But now listen. I want to make out one thing. This young man talked quite freely to me and Egerton about his place, his position, salary—everything. And yet you say he isn't a gentleman."
"Of course he isn't a gentleman. I don't the least understand what you mean. It's some prevarication or paradox." Mrs. Wilson taps the chair-arm impatiently.
"I mean this—if he isn't a gentleman, how comes it that he isn't ashamed of being a haberdasher? Because he isn't. Seemed to take it all as a matter of course."
"I cannot follow your meaning at all. And I will not trouble you to explain it. The question now is—will you, or will you not, do something?"