"All the same, it's marvellous. Your soul seems to be a filter; it only assimilates what it likes. Or perhaps you have a private source of succour to draw on that puts you on a higher plane than us, some crystallised immovable ideal ... some fixed star to shoot at ... some sublime Song of Songs."
Lilly started so violently that a low cry escaped her lips, loud enough, however, to attract the eyes of the company towards her.
"I have only trodden on this lady's foot," explained Dr. Salmoni, "and she was ingenuous enough to think I did it by mistake."
Everyone laughed.
"A joke sufficiently clumsy to satisfy them," he said in a whisper, leaning close to her shoulder. "I'll make believe not to have heard your involuntary confession. I only value intended avowals. I am not going to ask you to-night, as I asked you once before, what you are doing here. I ask instead: What have you got to lose here? And I can give the answer myself directly: Your style--your style stands in peril. You are on the brink of losing your style, and becoming guiltless of style, and that is a misfortune and a crime at the same moment. Style is to me equivalent to virtue, greatness, sincerity, religion, power, and a few other things all combined--a divine quality. Keep to your last, spiritually and physically. There is line in that; an excellent thing to preserve. Swing yourself up, if you like, to the peaks of a healthy and joyous viciousness--tant mieux. You can either dress your hair like a nun's or let it float over the pillow like a bacchante's--but be sure which you decide on."
"I think just now that you pleaded the cause of nuances," Lilly said, feeling her wits sharpened by his, "and now you are talking platitudes."
"Hear, hear," he answered approvingly. "That's capital! But no, no, dear gracious one; I am not talking platitudes. I preach simply, 'Will,' the will to personality. In truth, there's room for plenty of nuances. You have the stuff in you for a grande amoureuse; but, alas! not the courage."
"And that shows I haven't the stuff," she retorted, giving him a radiant look.
He laughed like a schoolboy. "Yes, yes. We all get old sometime, and listen to little virtuous women lecturing us on logic."
And he chivalrously allowed her the satisfaction of having got the best of him in repartee.