hugh. But look here . . is all this worth while?
edward. [supremely ironical.] My dear Hugh, what a silly question!
hugh. [very seriously.] But have you the right to make a mean thing of your life like this?
edward. Does my life matter?
hugh. Well . . of course!
edward. I find no evidence to convince me of it. The World that you talk about so finely is using me up. A little wantonly . . a little needlessly, I do think. But she knows her own damn business . . or so she says, if you try to teach it her. And why should I trouble to fit myself for better work than she has given me to do . . nursing fools' money?
hugh. [responding at once to this vein.] Edward, we must turn this world upside down. It's her stupidity that drives me mad. We all want a lesson in values. We're never taught what is worth having and what isn't. Why should your real happiness be sacrificed to the sham happiness which people have invested in the firm?
edward. I suppose their money means such happiness to them as they understand.
hugh. Then we want another currency. We must learn to express ourselves in terms of vitality. There can be no other standard of worth in life, can there? I never believed that money was valuable. I remember once giving a crossing sweeper a sovereign. The sovereign was nothing. But the sensation I gave him was an intrinsically valuable thing.
He is fearfully pleased with his essay in philosophy.