Ampere. "You
turn things into ridicule without seeming to do it, though not, I
think, without intending it. You've no respect for my travels- you
think them ridiculous."
"Where do you find that?"
She went on in the same tone, fretting the edge of her book with the
paper-knife. "You see my ignorance, my blunders, the way I wander
about as if the world belonged to me, simply because- because it has
been put into my power to do so. You don't think a woman ought to do
that. You think it bold and ungraceful."
"I think it beautiful," said Osmond. "You know my opinions- I've
treated you to enough of them. Don't you remember my telling you
that one ought to make one's life a work of art? You looked rather
shocked at first; but then I told you that it was exactly what you
seemed to me to be trying to do with your own."
She looked up from her book. "What you despise most in the world
is bad, is stupid art."
"Possibly. But yours seem to me very clear and very good."
"If I were to go to Japan next winter you would laugh at me," she
went on.
Osmond gave a smile- a keen one, but not a laugh, for the tone of
their conversation was not jocose.
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