You: Your attitude toward life.
She: Why, I have no attitude!
You: There you are; that’s just it. Someone of us mortals tries to tell you how we—how flesh-and-blood beings react to you, and you simply open those clear eyes of yours, and—well, how can I go on talking in the face of such bland ignorance?
She: Ignorance! Why I don’t....
You: Oh, surely you know how ignorant you are? You must remain ignorant with deliberation. It’s part of your charm, of course, but ... oh, how charming you could be, in another way!
She: Really.... (suddenly her voice warms and she leans a little over the table, talking eagerly) No, you’re perfectly right. I mean from your viewpoint, of course. One thing that you forget, though, is that I don’t feel the way that you and the rest of them do. I can’t really understand it myself, and yet ... oh, all that sort of thing; emotion and all that; seems so ... so messy.
You: Messy? My dear child, what sort of people can you have known?
She: Perfectly normal people, I assure you. No, it’s my own fault. It’s me, and I can’t help it. Emotion to me has always seemed—no thank you, just demi-tasse—seemed common. Not aristocratic. That’s rather a snide thing to say, isn’t it? I don’t mean to sound that way.
You: I know you don’t. (The music plays without competition for a moment). But how sad!
She: Sad? Oh no. I get along quite well. I’m really very happy, except once in a while. I’m as happy, that is, as you can possibly be for all your—your normality.