human
He's spoilt by the French blood his mother gave him, said Mrs. Mansfield as the door closed.
gpt
If he had been all French, one might have delighted in him, taken him on the intellectual side, known where one was, skipped the coldness and the irony, clung to the wit, vivacity and easy charm. But he's a modern Frenchman, boxing with an Englishman and using his feet half the time. And that's dreadful. In an English drawing-room I don't like the Savate. Now tell us, tell us! I am so thankful he is not a celebrity.
human
Nor ever likely to be unless he marries the wrong woman.
gpt
What do you mean by that?
human
A woman who is ambitious for him and pushes him.
gpt
But if this Claude Heath has so much talent, surely it would be a fine thing to make him give it to the world.
human
That depends on his temperament, I daresay, said Mrs. Mansfield.
gpt
I believe there are people who ought to hide their talents in a napkin.
human
Oh, mother! Explain!
gpt
Some plants can only grow in darkness.
human
Very nasty ones, I should think! Deadly nightshade! That sort of thing!
gpt
Poor dear! I gave her light in a vulgar age. She can't help it, said Mrs. Mansfield to Max Elliot.
human
We are her refined seniors. But sheer weight of years has little influence. Never mind. Go on. You and I at least can understand.