“You are quite mistaken, Mr Morgan. I am not lonely—not in the very least—ever! And I cannot conceive what leads you to suppose that I am.”
“I recognise the chivalry which prompts your answer.”
“Chivalry!—What are you talking about, Mr Morgan?—Have you lost your senses?”
“No; not yet. As I trust that you will afford me opportunities of proving to you. I at least am lonely—I believe the very loneliest creature in the whole world. I want you to take pity on my solitude.”
“I am very sorry for you if you are so much alone.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course I mean it. Why do you persist in hinting that I keep on saying what I don’t mean?”
“If you do mean it—really mean it—then you have made of me the happiest of men.”
“That’s nonsense. It’s absurd to say that my being sorry for you can make you happy.”
“It is not absurd; because if you are really sorry—as you say you are—you will put an end to my loneliness.”