"But I have offered you love, continually, for four years."
"Dick ... oh, Dick! You don't know what that means. You showed that when you selected your tactics: trying to give me things that I could taste and touch and see.
"If it had been love, the real thing, that you felt, you'd have overwhelmed me with it, you would not have allowed another consideration to enter, you'd have swept me off my feet with making me understand that it was love. You wouldn't have talked places and motors, luxury and aimlessness."
Her voice shook. She was hurt, bordering on anger.
"You pass the buck," he retorted evenly. "You've told me, time after time, that love didn't matter to you."
"Not the sort you offered. It never could."
"There's another kind, then?"
"Somewhere,"—with an emphatic nod.
"You think you can find the sort you're looking for here?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought of that yet, but I know there is something else I can find."