"Oh Eliot, he does care."
"In a way. Not enough to keep on at it. You've got to slog like blazes, if you want to get on."
"Jerrold won't, ever, then."
"Oh yes he will. He'll get on all right, because he doesn't care; because work comes so jolly easy to him. He hasn't got to break his heart over it…. The trouble with Colin is that he cares, awfully, for such a lot of other things. Us, for instance. He'll leave off in the middle of a movement if he hears Jerrold yelling for him. He ought to be able to chuck us all; we're all of us in his way. He ought to hate us. He ought to hate Jerrold worst of all."
Adeline and John Severn came round the corner of the terrace.
"What's all this about hating?" he said.
"What do you mean, Eliot?" said she.
Eliot raised himself wearily. "I mean," he said, "you'll never be any good at anything if you're not prepared to commit a crime for it."
"I know what I'd commit a crime for," said Anne. "But I shan't tell."
"You needn't. You'd do it for anybody you were gone on."