A little of it goes a good way..."
"Oh, if _that's_ the case..." she said. "How about your thesis?" she
went on swiftly. "What are you going to write about?"
"I was thinking of Shakespeare."
"Shakespeare! There you go again! Ridiculing me to my very face!"
"Not at all. There's lots to say about him--or them."
"Oh, you believe in Bacon!"
"Not at all--once more. I should like to take a year and spend it among the
manor-houses of Warwickshire. But I suppose nobody would stake me to that."
"I don't know what you have in mind; some wild goose chase, probably. I
expect your friends would like it better if you spent your time right
here."
"Probably. I presume I shall end by doing a thesis on the 'color-words' in
Keats and Shelley. A penniless devil was no luck."
"Anybody has luck who can form the right circle. Stay where you are. A
circle formed here would do you much more good than a temporary one four
thousand miles away."
Voices were heard in the front yard. "There they come, now," Mrs. Phillips
said. She rose, and one more of the wayward cushions went to the floor. It
lay there unregarded,--a sign that a promising tete-a-tete was, for the
time being, over.
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