The old gentleman’s voice trembled. “Man, you cannot be serious!”
“I can be in love!” said Mr. Maturin coldly.
“Love!” cried the lady in the shadows.
“More,” said Mr. Maturin, “I can love. I did not know that until quite lately. I did not know that when I was young. I get quite rhetorical when I think of it. I did not know, Sir Guy, of this beautiful thing lying in wait for me, Capel Maturin—to love, without fear, without shame, even without hope, without desire——”
“Without desire!” cried Mrs. de Gramercy. “Mr. Maturin, aren’t you exalting yourself?”
Mr. Maturin suddenly looked old and very tired. He said: “I did not speak the exact truth a moment ago. I knew when I was young that I could love. I suspected it. I have awaited the moment for many years. Of course, I have had to kill time meanwhile. I must inform you, Sir Guy, that when I was born a sunflower looked over a wall in Elm Park Gardens. All the gardeners in the neighbourhood were astounded. No sunflower has ever before looked over a wall in Elm Park Gardens. It could only have meant that I would love—one day. And the day has come, I love.”
Sir Guy said: “You blaspheming poseur!”
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Maturin, “for speaking the truth about myself. People are not used to hearing others speak the truth about themselves. It shall not occur again.”
The voice of Mrs. de Gramercy rose bitterly from the shadows: “Love! What, dear Heaven, do you mean by ‘love,’ Mr. Maturin?”
“Love,” said Mr. Maturin, “is one of the few diseases of the liver which cannot be cured by temperance or an apple a day. That is merely a suggestion.”