“No, no, no! Woman may approximate this, but she doesn’t reason it out. Let her be fine, and big, and righteously ambitious. Make us sympathize with her.”
“But I am preaching against her.”
“All the better. Make her a tragedy. Show the futility of it all. She didn’t kill herself. You killed her.”
“Do you write plays?” he asked her.
“No, but I feel drama. This is big, but it is all man psychology. You don’t know your woman.”
“I should hope not,” said the Professor. “You needn’t tell me there are such women in the world. She is worse than Lucretia Borgia.”
“Of course she is in the world, Father Professor. You haven’t looked at a woman since mother died, nineteen years ago, so you are not strictly up-to-date.”
“I have hundreds of young women in my classes.”
“Learning Euclid,” interpolated Jarvis.
“Well, Euclid is more desirable than what your heroine learned and taught.”
“Not at all. She learned life.”
The Professor turned to Bambi.
“Have you any ideas in common with this person, my dear?”
