She was thinking of the slums of London where she worked. What a contrast with this noble street! Why should men be allowed to build dens and hovels for other men to live in? Why should men make ugliness and endure squalor?
"I thought you knew me better," said Boreham, reproachfully, "than to say that."
"If you do approve of originality," said May, "then why not let Oxford work out its own evolution, in its own way?"
"It needs entire reconstruction," said Boreham, stubbornly.
"You would like to pass everything through a mill and turn it out to a pattern," said May. "But that's not the way the world progresses. Entire reconstruction would spoil Oxford. What it wants is what we all want—the pruning of our vices and the development of our virtues. We don't want to be shorn of all that makes up our personality."
Boreham said, "That is a different matter; but why should we argue?"
"To leave Oxford and speak of ourselves, of you and me," said May, persisting. "You don't want to be made like me; but we both want to have the selfishness squeezed out of us. There! I warn you that, having once started, I shall probably go on lamenting like the prophet Jeremiah until I reach the Lodgings! So if you want to escape, do find some pressing engagement. I shan't be offended in the very least."
How she longed for him to go! But was he capable of discovering this even when it was broadly hinted?
Boreham's beard moved irritably. The word "selfish" stung him. There was no such thing as being "unselfish"—one man wanted one thing, another man wanted another—and there you are!
"Human nature is selfish," he retorted. "Saints are selfish. They want to have a good time in the next world. Each man always wants to please himself, only tastes differ."