“Yes, Argyle,” said Lilly. “I know you're an obstinate love-apostle.”
“I am! I am! And I have certain standards, my boy, and certain ideals which I never transgress. Never transgress. And never abandon.”
“All right, then, you are an incurable love-maker.”
“Pray God I am,” said Argyle.
“Yes,” said the Marchese. “Perhaps we are all so. What else do you give? Would you have us make money? Or do you give the centre of your spirit to your work? How is it to be?”
“I don't vitally care either about money or my work or—” Lilly faltered.
“Or what, then?”
“Or anything. I don't really care about anything. Except that—”
“You don't care about anything? But what is that for a life?” cried the Marchese, with a hollow mockery.
“What do YOU care for?” asked Lilly.