"No, breaking my own because you don't really love me enough, yet."
"I love you too much—"
"That is literary bosh, Louis."
"Good God! Can't you ever understand that I'm respectable enough to want you for my wife?"
"You mean that you want me for what I do not wish to be. And you decline to love me unless I turn into a selfish, dependent, conventional nonentity, which you adore because respectable. Is that what you mean?"
"I want the laws of civilisation to safeguard you," he persisted patiently.
"I need no more protection than you need. I am not a baby. I am not afraid. Are you?"
"That is not the question—"
"Yes it is, dear. I stand in no fear. Why do you wish to force me to do what I believe would be a wrong to you? Can't you respect my disreputable convictions?"
"They are theories—not convictions—"