"Why, it fills their pockets!" Miriam cried.
"Yes, but see what they pay. It's the death of an actor to play to big populations that don't understand his language. It's nothing then but the gros moyens; all his delicacy perishes. However, they'll understand you."
"Perhaps I shall be too affected," said Miriam.
"You won't be more so than Garrick or Mrs. Siddons or John Kemble or Edmund Kean. They understood Edmund Kean. All reflection is affectation, and all acting is reflection."
"I don't know; mine is instinct," Miriam replied.
"My dear young lady, you talk of 'yours'; but don't be offended if I tell you that yours doesn't exist. Some day it will, if it comes off. Madame Carré's does, because she has reflected. The talent, the desire, the energy are an instinct; but by the time these things become a performance they are an instinct put in its place."
"Madame Carré is very philosophic. I shall never be like her."
"Of course you won't; you'll be original. But you'll have your own ideas."
"I dare say I shall have a good many of yours," said Miriam, smiling across the table.
They sat a moment looking at each other.
"Don't go in for coquetry; it's a waste of time."
"Well, that's civil!" the girl cried.
"Oh, I don't mean for me; I mean for yourself. I want you to be so concentrated. I am bound to give you good advice. You don't strike me as flirtatious and that sort of thing, and that's in your favour."
