Then the
professor suddenly changed his tone.
"Mr. Tavernake," he said, "I know what you are thinking about me:
I am a weak old man who drinks too much and who wasn't born
altogether honest. I can't give up anything. I'd be happier,
really happier, on a crust with Beatrice, but I daren't, I simply
daren't try it. I prefer the flesh pots with Elizabeth, and you
despise me for it. I don't blame you, Mr. Tavernake, but
listen."
"Well?" Tavernake interjected.
The professor's fingers gripped his arm.
"You've known Beatrice longer--you don't know Elizabeth very
well, but let me tell you this. Elizabeth is a very wonderful
person. I know something about character, I know something about
those hidden powers which men and women possess--strange powers
which no one can understand, powers which drag a man to a woman's
feet, or which make him shiver when he passes another even in a
crowd. You see, these things are a science with me, Mr.
Tavernake, but I don't pretend to understand everything. All I
know is that Elizabeth is one of those people who can just do
what she likes with men. I am her father and I am her slave. I
tell myself that I would rather be with Beatrice, and I am as
powerless to go as though I were bound with chains. You are a
young ignorant man, Mr. Tavernake, you know nothing of life, and
I will give you a word of warning. It is better for you that you
keep away from over there."
He raised one hand and pointed across the street towards the
Milan Court; with the other he once more gripped Tavernake's arm.
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