“I’m surprised at your talking about classes in this country.”
“There are classes everywhere—and always will be. A class simply means a group of people of similar sympathies, tastes, habits and means.”
“Means!” said she. “I was under the impression you despised money!”
“I?” He laughed. “No more than I despise food. Money is a kind of food. I want—and I try to get—all of it I need. My appetite is larger than some, smaller than others. I take—or try to take—in proportion to my appetite.”
She nodded thoughtfully. It was in a queer, hesitating voice that she went on to ask: “And you really don’t care to be rich?”
“No more than I want to be fat. And I want to be poor no more than I want to be emaciated.”
Again she reflected. Suddenly she asked: “Do you like this house?”
“Certainly. It is beautiful of its kind.”
“I mean, wouldn’t you like to have such a house?”
“God forbid!” said he, and she knew he was speaking sincerely. “I’ve other things to do in my brief life than take care of property.”