with the position of an English lady? If you'll take her as she is you may have her," Mrs. Rooth suddenly added.
"As she is, with all her ambitions unassuaged?"
"To marry you—might not that be an ambition?"
"A very paltry one. Don't answer for her, don't attempt that," said Sherringham. "You can do much better."
"Do you think you can?" smiled Mrs. Rooth.
"I don't want to; I only want to let it alone. She's an artist; you must give her her head," Peter went on. "You must always give an artist his head."
"But I have known great ladies who were artists. In English society there is always a field."
"Don't talk to me of English society! Thank heaven, in the first place, I don't live in it. Do you want her to give up her genius?"
"I thought you didn't care for it."
"She'd say 'No, I thank you, dear mamma.'"
"My gifted child!" Mrs. Rooth murmured.
"Have you ever proposed it to her?"
"Proposed it?"
"That she should give up trying."
Mrs. Rooth hesitated, looking down. "Not for the reason you mean. We don't talk about love," she simpered.
"Then it's so much less time wasted. Don't stretch out your hand to the worse when it may some day grasp the better," Sherringham pursued. Mrs. Rooth raised her eyes at him as if she recognized the force there might be in that, and he added: "Let her blaze out, let her look about her. Then you may talk to me if you like."
