“My conversation is not fit for an intellectual man,” said Ella, with a humility that contrasted with her conquering attitude of a few moments before.
“You are a very clever girl,” said Sylvester.
She shook her head with a little air of scorn and threw her sewing on the table.
“Oh, no. It pleases my vanity to think so. But what do I know in comparison with you? What can I do? You go to a bedside and hold the keys of life and death in your hand. To you, all the hidden forces and mysteries of nature are every-day commonplaces. Professor Steinthal of Vienna, whom I met the other day at Lady Milmo's, told me that, if you chose, you could become the greatest bacteriologist in Europe.”
“Did he say that?” asked Sylvester, eagerly.
“Yes, and that is why you ought to go away and live in London and fulfil your life gloriously.”
A look of amusement came into his grave eyes, and lit for a moment the sombreness of a face prematurely careworn.
“I am going to London,” he said. “I sold the practice this morning.”
Ella rose from her chair impetuously. “Why didn't you tell me at once, instead of letting me say all these silly things? It is just like a man.”
“You took my apathy so much for granted,” he said, laughing.