"So the idol has got tired of being worshipped," Mangan said, at last.
"It is an odd thing. I wonder how many thousands of people there are in
London--not merely shop-girls--who consider you the most fortunate
person alive--in whose imagination you loom larger than any saint or
soldier, any priest or statesman, of our own time. And I wonder what
they would say if they knew you were thinking of voluntarily abdicating
so proud and enviable a position. Well, well!--and the reason for this
sacrifice? Of course, you know it is a not uncommon thing for women to
give up their carriages and luxuries and fine living, and go into a
retreat, where they have to sweep out cells, and even keep strict
silence for a week at a time, which, I suppose, is a more difficult
business. The reason in their case is clear enough; they are driven to
all that by their spiritual needs; they want to have their souls washed
clean by penance and self-denial. But you," he continued, in no
unfriendly mood, but with his usual uncompromising sincerity, "whence
comes your renunciation? It is simply that a woman has turned your head.
You want to find yourself on the same plane with her; you want to be
socially her equal; and to do that you think you should throw off those
theatrical trappings.
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