Colin: As one gets older, and loses one’s illusions——
Margaret: They’re off.
Colin: And realises half one’s life has gone, and there’s an end to it some day, one is apt to get lonely. A lost atom in an infinity of blackness. In that blackness is despair. Only one thing can dispel it—Love. Real love. None of your free sort, John!
Gwen: What d’you mean?
Colin: I mean that love between two people that doesn’t need anything else, that won’t tolerate anything else, that’s lasting and tyrannical and jealous, is the only kind that’s worth while.
John (reappearing): What he really means is, he’s getting middle-aged.
Colin: Real love isn’t free.
John: Now listen, Grandpa; you’re nearly forty.
Colin: Shut up.
John: You’ve been at it twenty years. Have you ever had an experience which might be called free?