"I might be. I'm just beginning to realise my capacity for imbecility. You're different in this way anyhow; no woman ever before induced me to pull a solemn countenance."
"I don't induce you! I ask you not to."
"I try not to; but, somehow, there's something so—so real about you——"
"Are you accustomed to foregather with the disembodied?"
"I'm beginning to think that my world is rather thickly populated with ghosts—phantoms of a more real world."
He looked at her soberly; she had thought him younger than he now seemed. A slight irritation silenced her for a moment, then, impatiently:
"You speak cynically and I dislike it. What reason have you to express world-weary sentiments?—you who are young, who probably have never known real sorrow, deep unhappiness! I have little patience with a morbid view of anything, Mr. Quarren. I merely warn you—in the event of your ever desiring to obtain my good graces."
"I do desire them."
"Then be yourself."
"I don't know what I am. I thought I knew. Your advent has disorganised both my complacency and my resignation."