"Louis, if our estrangement is important enough for us to notice at all, it is important enough to analyse, isn't it?"
"I have analysed the reasons—"
"Truthfully?"
"I think so—as far as I have gone—"
"Let us go farther, then—to the end."
"But there is no particular significance—"
"Isn't there?"
"I don't know. After all, why did you leave that café? Why did I? Why are we together, now—here in your studio, and utterly miserable at one o'clock of the New Year's morning? For you and I are unhappy and ill at ease; and you and I are talking at cross purposes, groping, evading, fencing with words. If there is nothing significant in the friendship we gave each other from the hour we met—it is not worth the self-deception you are content with."
"Self-deception!" he repeated, flushing up.
"Yes. Because you do care more for me than what you have said about our friendship indicates…. And I care more for your regard than you seem willing to recognise—"