It was still without any attraction--not because of the
toil it involved, for that made small impression upon
her who had never worked and had never seen anyone
work, but because a career meant cutting herself off
from everything she had been brought up to regard as
fit and proper for a lady. She was ashamed of this;
she did not admit its existence even to herself, and in
her talks with Baird about the career she had professed
exactly the opposite view. Yet there it was--nor need
she have been ashamed of a feeling that is instilled into
women of her class from babyhood as part of their
ladylike education. The career had not become definite.
She could not imagine herself out on a stage in some
sort of a costume, with a painted face, singing before
an audience. Still, the career was less indefinite than
when it had no existence beyond Stanley Baird's enthusiasm
and her own whipped-up pretense of enthusiasm.
She shrank from the actual start, but at the same
time was eager for it. Inaction began to fret her
nerves, and she wished to be doing something to show
her appreciation of Stanley Baird's generosity.
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