"You don't understand, darling. I said we were oil and water — not vinegar. It's an expression — an idiom."
"It is entirely without sense," replied Lola scornfully.
"It means we don't mix. Well, anyway, it's just a saying. It doesn't really matter. The point is that Father's behaving like an absolute cad. Simply because you're a professional dancer he's trying to do everything he can to stop us being married. I simply hate telling you this, darling, because I'd die sooner than let you be hurt. But there it is. He's one of those hide-bound, utterly disgusting Victorians. One simply can't argue with him. He's always hated me. I expect it's because of my mother. She ran off with some other man when I was a kid. I don't really know much about it, but I believe there was a perfectly ghastly scandal at the time. Anyway, Father's been an absolute beast to me all my life — it's a pity he didn't have Francis for a son, though as a matter of fact he wouldn't think so jolly well of him if he knew some of the things I know about him — and this is just the last straw. Because nothing would induce me to give you up. He needn't think I care about his filthy money. Money simply means nothing to me, and in any case I happen to be able to write, and though he chooses to sneer at my work there are other people who know far more about it than he does who think I'm going to go a long way. I couldn't help smiling when he talked about me starving in the gutter for all he cared. Of course he'd never believe that anyone could make any money by writing, but he'll just see, that's all!"
Lola, who had listened to this rambling speech in complete and unusual silence, relaxed once more on to her bank of pillows, and said in a thoughtful voice: "It is true that your papa is a character extremely difficult, not at all sympathetic. It will be better perhaps if I do not marry you."
Geoffrey stared down at her, startled and incredulous. "Lola! You can't think that I'd give you up! Good God, I'm mad about you! I adore you!"
"It is very sad," agreed Lola. "I myself am quite in despair. But it is not sense to marry if you have no money. One must think of these things, though certainly it is very disagreeable."
He snatched at her wrists. "Lola, you can't mean that! Lola, don't you care for me? What does it matter about the money, if we love each other? I'll make money, I swear I will! You can't say you won't marry me!"
"Certainly I love you," replied Lola with composure. "I love with great passion always, but I am not at all a fool, and it is plain that if you have not a great deal of money it is impossible that we should marry. And I will tell you, my dear Geoffrey, what I have been thinking, that perhaps it is better that I do not engage myself to you, for I am quite young, not at all passee, and besides, I find that I do not wish to live in the country where there is no absinthe, no shower in my bathroom, and cocks that crow all night so that I cannot sleep."
"But we shouldn't live in the country! We could live anywhere you liked!" Geoffrey said desperately.
"I like always to live in the best places," said Lola with simplicity. "And I must tell you, please, that you are hurting me."