JACK. Then what is real?
ELSIE. Blood. Flesh and blood. I'd burn every book in this room for the glory of another rush like yours when you scored your second goal last Saturday. It may have lasted thirty seconds, but it was worth a wilderness of books.
JACK. It was worth just half a column in the Athletic News.
ELSIE. It's worth my love for you. It's not your brain I'm wanting, Jack. It's you. You're splendid as you are. Don't try to hide behind a dreary cloud of culture. It's better fun to be alive all over than to crawl through life with a half-dead body and a half-baked mind.
JACK. Life's not all fun.
ELSIE. It isn't, but it ought to be, and for you and me it's going to be, and if you don't stop looking serious, I'll upset you by kissing you again.
JACK. Don't do that, Elsie. It isn't right yet.
ELSIE. Jack, you've a bilious conscience. It's the only part of you that isn't gloriously fit.
JACK. Give me till I've seen your father and then perhaps you'll tire of being kissed a long while sooner than I tire of kissing you.
ELSIE It's so stupid to ask father about a thing like that. It's not his lips you're going to kiss. It's mine.