'You don't know the life,' Lushington answered rather sadly. 'All I can
do is to tell you that it is not fit for you, or that you are not fit
for it, because you are not by nature what most of them are, and please
God you never will be.' He spoke very earnestly, and another little silence followed, during
which the two walked on.
'Please notice that I have not called you a prig for saying that,' said
Margaret at last. 'And I have not thought you one either,' she added,
before he could answer.
'You re very nice!' Lushington tried to laugh, but it was rather a
failure.
'But of course you've no business to think me nice, have you?' 'None whatever.' 'Why not?' It was not even curiosity, nor an idle inclination to flirt that made
Margaret ask the question at last. She had never felt so strongly drawn
to him as now.
He looked at her quietly, and answered without the least hesitation or
shyness.
'I've no business to be in love with you, because I'm a fraud,' he
said.
'A fraud! You? What in the world do you mean?' Margaret was thoroughly surprised. This gifted, shy, youthful man who
had fought his way to the front by his own talent and hard work, was of
all people she knew the one with whom she least connected any idea of
deception. He only nodded and looked at her.
'A fraud!' she exclaimed again. 'I suppose it's some sort of false
modesty that makes you say that! You know that you are a very
successful writer and that you have earned your success. Why do you try
to make out----' 'I'm not trying to make out anything. I tell you the plain truth. I'm a
fraud.' 'Nonsense!' Margaret was almost angry at his persistence.
'I would not tell you, if I did not care for you so much,' he answered.
'But as I do, and as you seem to like me a little, I should be an awful
cad if I kept you in the dark any longer. You won't publish it on the
housetops. I'm not Edmund Lushington at all.' 'You are not Edmund Lushington, the critic?' Margaret's mouth opened in
surprise.
'I'm the critic all right,' he answered, with a faint smile. 'I'm the
man that writes, the man you've heard of. But I'm not Lushington. It's
an assumed name.' 'Oh!' Margaret seemed relieved. 'Is that all? Many people who write
take other names.' 'But they are not generally known by them to their friends,' Lushington
observed. 'That's where the fraud comes in, in my case. A man may sign
his book Judas Iscariot or Peter the Great if he likes, provided he's
known as Mr. Smith at home, if that's his real name.' 'Is your real name Smith?' Margaret asked. 'Is that why you changed
it?' Lushington could not help smiling.