You see, my dear Linn, if I have remembered my
catechism, you have not; you have forgotten that you must learn and
labor truly to get your own living, and do your duty in that state of
life unto which it has pleased God to call you. You want to change your
state of life; you want to become a barrister. What would happen? The
chances are entirely against your being able to earn your own living--at
least for years; but what is far more certain is that your fashionable
friends--whose positions and occupations you admire--would care nothing
more about you. You are interesting to them now because you are a
favorite of the public, because you play the chief part at the New
Theatre. What would you be as a briefless barrister? Who would provide
you with salmon-fishing and deer-stalking then? If you aspired to marry
one of those dames of high degree, what would be your claims and
qualifications? You say you would almost rather be a gillie in charge of
dogs and ponies. A gillie in charge of dogs and ponies doesn't enjoy
many conversations with his young mistress; and if he made bold to
demand any closer alliance Pauline would pretty soon have that Claude
kicked off the premises--and serve him right.
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