"Don't you?" asked Jimmy.
"I rather prefer being spoken to as if I were a reasonable being!"
"I was hoping you were not one," he said. "The spring is too intoxicating. Everything," he continued, as they turned with one consent from Knightsbridge into the park, "seems unaccustomed, fresh, young, and you the most of all. Hang being reasonable! Suggest something mad and let us do it together. But," he cried, abruptly changing his tone, "what should you like me to talk about?"
"I suppose your favourite topic is yourself," she said. "Tell me what you do—if ever you do anything."
"I don't," he replied. "I am what is called a spoilt child of fortune."
"You like being spoilt?"
"It depends on the spoiler. Sometimes I hate it."
"Why?" asked Bridget.
"Oh well," he said, as they walked by the side of Rotten Row, and Jimmy occasionally lifted his straw hat to some passer-by who did not fail to stare at his companion, "if we have to be serious, one has moments of inspiration and pines for better things."
"Aren't they within your reach?"