"Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. And she defies me. "The gentleman under the table," she answered. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—" "What—what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly.
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