What sort——?
Philip.
What sort—spiritual and material?
Ottoline.
[Resting her elbow upon the arm of her chair and her chin upon her hand, musingly.] Oh, I believe any world would content me that's totally different from the world I've lived in so long; any world that isn't flat and stale and stifling; that isn't made up of shams, and petty aims and appetites; any world that—well, such a world as you used to picture, Phil, when you preached your gospel to a selfish, common girl under the chestnuts in the Allée de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysées! [Half laughing, half sighing.] Ha, la, la, la!
[Again there is a pause, and then he walks to the further window and gazes into the street once more.
Philip.
[In a low voice.] Ten years ago, Otto!
Ottoline.
Ten years ago!