Ennis.
"Something," said Burnaby slowly, "totally un-American--in short,
whole-heartedness." He clasped his sinewy, brown hands on the
table-cloth. "I mean," he continued, "if, after due thought--never
forget the due thought--you believe it to be the best thing to do to
elope with another man's wife, elope; only don't look back. In the same
way, if you decide to become, after much question, an ironmonger, be an
ironmonger. Love passionately what you've chosen. In other words, life's
like fox-hunting; choose your line, choose it slowly and carefully, then
follow it 'hell-for-leather.'
"You see, the trouble with Americans is that they are the greatest
wanters of cake after they've eaten it the world has ever seen. Our
blood isn't half as mixed as our point of view. We want to be good and
we want to be bad; we want to be a dozen utterly incompatible things all
at the same time. Of course, all human beings are that way, but other
human beings make their choices and then try to eradicate the
incompatibilities. The only whole-hearted people we possess are our
business men, and even they, once they succeed, usually spoil the
picture by astounding open scandals with chorus-girls."
Mrs. Ennis shook her head with amused bewilderment. "Do you mean," she
asked, "that a man or woman can have only one thing in his or her life?"
"Only one very outwardly important thing--publicly," retorted Burnaby.
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