You'll do what you want, evidently."

"I _will_ succeed--I _will_ be great. Of course I know too little, I've
seen too little. But I've always liked it; I've never liked anything
else. I used to learn things and do scenes and rant about the room when
I was but five years old." She went on, communicative, persuasive,
familiar, egotistical (as was necessary), and slightly common, or
perhaps only natural; with reminiscences, reasons, and anecdotes, an
unexpected profusion, and with an air of comradeship, of freedom in any
relation, which seemed to plead that she was capable at least of
embracing that side of the profession she desired to adopt. He noted
that if she had seen very little, as she said, she had also seen a great
deal; but both her experience and her innocence had been accidental and
irregular. She had seen very little acting--the theatre was always too
expensive. If she could only go often--in Paris for instance every night
for six months--to see the best, the worst, everything, she would make
things out, would observe and learn what to do, what not to do: it would
be a school of schools. But she couldn't without selling the clothes off
her back. It was vile and disgusting to be poor, and if ever she were to
know the bliss of having a few francs in her pocket she would make up
for it--that she could promise! She had never been acquainted with any
one who could tell her anything--if it was good or bad or right or
wrong--except Mrs. Delamere and poor Ruggieri. She supposed they had
told her a great deal, but perhaps they hadn't, and she was perfectly
willing to give it up if it was bad. Evidently Madame Carre thought so;
she thought it was horrid. Wasn't it perfectly divine, the way the old
woman had said those verses, those speeches of Celie? If she would only
let her come and listen to her once in a while like that it was all she
would ask. She had got lots of ideas just from that half-hour; she had
practised them over, over, and over again, the moment she got home. He
might ask her mother--he might ask the people next door. If Madame Carre
didn't think she could work, she might have heard, could she have
listened at the door, something that would show her. But she didn't
think her even good enough to criticise--since that wasn't criticism,
telling her her head was good. Of course her head was good--she needn't
travel up to the _quartiers excentriques_ to find that out. It was her
mother, the way she talked, wh