[Then watching the Professor with a pitying shudder]
He’s on the wrong tack with his professor’s manner . . . her eyes seeing cruelly through him . . . with what terrible recognition! . . . God, never bless me with children! . . .
Nina
[Thinking with weary scorn]
The Professor of Dead Languages is talking again . . . a dead man lectures on the past of living . . . since I was born I have been in his class, loving-attentive, pupil-daughter Nina . . . my ears numb with spiritless messages from the dead . . . dead words droning on . . . listening because he is my cultured father . . . a little more inclined to deafness than the rest (let me be just) because he is my father . . . father? . . . what is father? . . .
Professor Leeds
[Thinking—terrified]
I must talk her out of it! . . . find the right words! . . . oh, I know she won’t hear me! . . . oh, wife, why did you die, you would have talked to her, she would have listened to you! . . .
[Continuing in his professor’s superior manner]
—and I really think, in justice to yourself above all, you ought to consider this step with great care before you definitely commit yourself. First and foremost, there is your health to be taken into consideration. You’ve been very ill, Nina, how perilously so perhaps you’re not completely aware, but I assure you, and Charlie can corroborate my statement, that six months ago the doctors thought it might be years before—and yet, by staying home and resting and finding healthy outdoor recreation among your old friends, and
