“That could never be.”
“Why?”
“For many reasons. First of all, because I am older than you....”
“Bah!”
“Let me speak. First, because I am older than you; second, because you would be jealous of me and would continually mortify me; and lastly, most important of all, because you and I are both poor.”
“I shall make money,” said Quentin.
“How? With what? Why aren’t you making it now?”
“Now?” questioned Quentin after a pause. “Now I have no ideal; it’s all the same to me whether I’m rich or poor. But if you believed in me, you’d find that I could snatch money from the very bowels of the earth.”
“Possibly, yes,” said Rafaela calmly; “because you are clever. But those are my reasons. Some day, when you recall our conversation, you will say: ‘she was right.’”
“You are very discreet,” said Quentin as he turned toward the door; “too discreet; and you have discreetly torn asunder all my illusions, and have left my soul in shreds.”