Harold. No, thanks. Come, let me hear, make a clean breast of it.
Lucy. I can't, really; you would only laugh at me.
Harold. Then why deny me a pleasure, for you know I love to laugh?
Lucy. Well, then—if you become famous—and rich——
Harold. If I do; well?
Lucy. You won't—you won't forget me, will you?
Harold. Forget you, what an idea! Why do I want to become famous? why do I want to become rich? For my own sake? for the sake of the money? Neither. I want it for your sake, so that you can be rich; so that you can have everything you can possibly want. I don't mind roughing it a bit myself, but——
Lucy. No more do I: I am sure we might be very happy living even here.
Harold. No, thank you; no second pair fronts for me, or, rather, none for my wife. I want you to forget all about this place, as though it had never existed; I want you to only remember your giving lessons as a nightmare which has passed and gone. I want you to take a position in the world, to go into society——
Lucy. But, Harold——