"That's my ideal
of a regular occupation," he said.
Miss Stackpole turned to him again, and, though her eyes had
rested upon the picture, he saw she had missed the subject. She was
thinking of something much more serious. "I don't see how you can
reconcile it to your conscience."
"My dear lady, I have no conscience!"
"Well, I advise you to cultivate one. You'll need it the next time
you go to America."
"I shall probably never go again."
"Are you ashamed to show yourself?"
Ralph meditated with a mild smile. "I suppose that if one has no
conscience one has no shame."
"Well, you've got plenty of assurance," Henrietta declared. "Do
you consider it right to give up your country?"
"Ah, one doesn't give up one's country any more than one gives up
one's grandmother. They're both antecedent to choice- elements of
one's composition that are not to be eliminated."
"I suppose that means that you've tried and been worsted. What do
they think of you over here?"
"They delight in me."
"That's because you truckle to them."
"Ah, set it down a little to my natural charm!" Ralph sighed.
"I don't know anything about your natural charm.
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