“Don't you think,” said Aaron, turning to Lilly, “that however you try to get away from it, if you're not after money, and can't fit yourself into a job—you've got to, you've got to try and find something else—somebody else—somebody. You can't really be alone.”
“No matter how many mistakes you've made—you can't really be alone—?” asked Lilly.
“You can be alone for a minute. You can be alone just in that minute when you've broken free, and you feel heart thankful to be alone, because the other thing wasn't to be borne. But you can't keep on being alone. No matter how many tunes you've broken free, and feel, thank God to be alone (nothing on earth is so good as to breathe fresh air and be alone), no matter how many times you've felt this—it wears off every time, and you begin to look again—and you begin to roam round. And even if you won't admit it to yourself, still you are seeking—seeking. Aren't you? Aren't you yourself seeking?”
“Oh, that's another matter,” put in Argyle. “Lilly is happily married and on the shelf. With such a fine woman as Tanny I should think so—RATHER! But his is an exceptional nature, and an exceptional case. As for me, I made a hell of my marriage, and I swear it nearly sent me to hell. But I didn't forswear love, when I forswore marriage and woman. Not by ANY means.”
“Are you not seeking any more, Lilly?” asked the Marchese. “Do you seek nothing?”
“We married men who haven't left our wives, are we supposed to seek anything?” said Lilly. “Aren't we perfectly satisfied and in bliss with the wonderful women who honour us as wives?”
“Ah, yes, yes!” said the Marchese. “But now we are not speaking to the world. Now we try to speak of that which we have in our centre of our hearts.”
“And what have we there?” said Lilly.
“Well—shall I say? We have unrest. We have another need. We have something that hurts and eats us, yes, eats us inside. Do I speak the truth?”
“Yes. But what is the something?”