Arthur mused a moment. Then looking up, with apparent candour, he said, "Well, I suppose it is odd; but honestly, you know, I don't want to change in the least. You see, your respectable people, they don't want to have anything to do with me; and anyhow, the things they care for bore me to death, really they do. You only have one life, so why not be happy in your own way? that's my principle."
"But surely, Lestrange, you can't go on—"
"No, I suppose I can't for ever; but you try to enjoy it while it lasts; and anyhow, my father, you know how he died—I suppose it's fate; heredity you call those things, don't you?"
"Really, I'm shocked to hear you talk so recklessly, as if you didn't care. You seem very much changed."
"Am I changed? I don't know; I suppose I am. We've both changed a little, don't you think? At least, things seem different. I wonder where I put my gloves,—I really must be going."
"Well, of course, I can't keep you, Lestrange; I can only give you my advice. But I can't believe you're happy."
For a moment Arthur looked at him sullenly.
"Well, what if I ain't?" he asked. "What's that to you?"
"I was only going to say," Austen went on, "I was only going to say that it seems to me that if you would try—"
"Try! Good Lord, I've tried enough, but what's the good?" Arthur said, with his old calmness and indifference, as he turned away towards the door. "I don't care, and no one else does, either. But I must be off. Good bye."