'
"I turned indignantly to see who was speaking. The opinions
sounded like those of a theatrical manager. No one was in the room
but I and the cat. No doubt I had been talking to myself, but the
voice was strange to me.
"'Be reformed by her love for the hero!' I retorted,
contemptuously, for I was unable to grasp the idea that I was
arguing only with myself, 'why it's his mad passion for her that
ruins his life.'
"'And will ruin the play with the great B.P.,' returned the other
voice. 'The British dramatic hero has no passion, but a pure and
respectful admiration for an honest, hearty English girl--
pronounced "gey-url." You don't know the canons of your art.'
"'And besides,' I persisted, unheeding the interruption, 'women
born and bred and soaked for thirty years in an atmosphere of sin
don't reform.'
"'Well, this one's got to, that's all,' was the sneering reply,
'let her hear an organ.'
"'But as an artist -,' I protested.
"'You will be always unsuccessful,' was the rejoinder. 'My dear
fellow, you and your plays, artistic or in artistic, will be
forgotten in a very few years hence. You give the world what it
wants, and the world will give you what you want.
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