"Decidedly. What is real, Mr. Channing?"
"Well—but suppose you tell me. You're the man who's livened interest in the British Empiricists after they'd been all but forgotten except by students of philosophy."
"What are you, Mr. Channing? That is, what makes you real?"
"Umm, let me see. The chemicals. Yes, the chemicals of which my body is composed. And a soul, whatever that is. If there is such a thing."
"But are you really chemicals? That is, are the chemicals real?"
"I don't follow you."
"Like everything else, these chemicals have qualities. In solids, they have size, shape, weight, bulk. Similar properties in liquid and gas. On a secondary scale, they have color, taste, odor. On a tertiary one, they can do things. They react. They behave as expected from a study of the primary and secondary qualities. Now do you follow me?"
"I think so."
"I'm sorry to begin our discussion this way. I feel I know what your problem is, but I'm starting at the beginning. Do you mind?"
"Not at all." Mrs. Delacourt would be very unhappy.