"I don't look down—!"
"Oh, maybe not because of the money and the fine house, I don't mean that. But you're in the big machine, I'm not. You're a success, I've been a failure, from a social point of view—"
"Success?" said Laurence.
Sunk deep in the big armchair, his head bent forward, he stared at the fire from under his bent brows.
"Surely. You're a big man here, Laurence, I found out—you've made a fine name for yourself. You've got wealth too, a real lady and a beautiful one for a wife, three fine boys—and this house you live in, why, it's a palace."
There was a faint veiled irony in the old man's voice.
"Your mother would have been proud to see you, Laurence."
"But you're not, eh?" Laurence smiled aggressively. "You've got something else in your mind."
"Well—yes ... I don't care much for all this. I find a man needs very little to live, and all the rest is waste, so I think."