She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. Even her own history teacher, Mr. “I—I shall be all right directly. Nothing has gone wrong here?" "Nothing whatever," replied Ireton. “Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. “I want to be your friend,” he said. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. You have neither reason nor logic. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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