"In my favour!"
"It does save time."
"Perhaps it saves too much. Don't you think the artist ought to have passions?"
Sherringham hesitated a moment: he thought an examination of this question premature. "Flirtations are not passions," he replied. "No, you are simple—at least I suspect you are; for of course, with a woman, one would be clever to know." She asked why he pronounced her simple, but he judged it best, and more consonant with fair play, to defer even a treatment of this branch of the question; so that, to change the subject, he said: "Be sure you don't betray me to your friend Mr Nash."
"Betray you? Do you mean about your recommending affectation?"
"Dear me, no; he recommends it himself. That is he practises it, and on a scale!"
"But he makes one hate it."
"He proves what I mean," said Sherringham: "that the great comedian is the one who raises it to a science. If we paid ten shillings to listen to Mr. Nash, we should think him very fine. But we want to know what it's supposed to be."
"It's too odious, the way he talks about us!" Miriam cried, assentingly.
"About 'us'?"
"Us poor actors."
"It's the competition he dislikes," said Sherringham, laughing.
"However, he is very good-natured; he lent mamma thirty
