"I believe that!"
—"And," continued Clive—"absolutely unselfish and non-mercenary."
"If she's all that, too, it certainly seems to pay her—materially speaking."
"You don't understand," said his son patiently. "From the very beginning of our friendship it has been very difficult for me to make her accept anything—even when she was in actual need. Our friendship is not on that basis. She doesn't care for me because of what I do for her. It may surprise you to hear me—"
"My son, nothing surprises me any more, not even virtue and honesty. This girl may be all you think her. Personally I never met any like her, but I've read about them in sentimental fiction. No doubt there's a basis for such popular heroines. There may have been such paragons. There may be yet. Perhaps you've collided with one of these feminine curiosities."
"I have."
"All right, Clive. Only, why linger longer in the side-show than the price of admission warrants? The main tent awaits you. In more modern metaphor; it's the same film every hour, every day, the same
orchestrion, the same environment. You've seen enough. There's nothing more—if I clearly understand your immaculate intentions. Do I?"
"Yes," said Clive, reddening.
"All right; there's nothing more, then. It's time to retire. You've had your amusement, and you've paid for it like a gentleman—very much like a gentleman—rather exorbitantly. That's the way a gentleman always pays. So now suppose you return to your own sort and coyly reappear amid certain circles recently neglected, and which, at one period of your career, you permitted yourself to embellish and adorn with your own surpassing personality."