"He probably would not," agreed the philosopher.
"And—and most people like being loved, don't they?"
"To crave for love is an almost universal instinct, Miss May."
"Yes, almost," she said, with a dreary little smile. "You see, he'll get old, and—and have no one to look after him."
"He will."
"And no home."
"Well, in a sense, none," corrected the philosopher, smiling. "But really you'll frighten me. I'm a bachelor myself, you know, Miss May."
"Yes," she whispered, just audibly.
"And all your terrors are before me."
"Well, unless—"