Jack. You are angry with me!
Bob. You ought to realize, Gladys—this will be the making of Jack.
Gladys. Suppose it will be the making of something I don't want? Suppose I'd prefer him as he is?
Bob. You don't care for him to know about life?
Gladys. I don't care for him to know about low life. I don't see at all why he can't be content with the life of ladies and gentlemen.
Jack. I thought you'd be proud to have me interested in deeper things.
Gladys. Jack, you are young and care-free. It made me happy just to see you—you were the very spirit of youth! But now you will grow serious, you will be pale, and have a frown upon your forehead. You will be eternally preaching, like Bob, here—and you will bore me to death!
Jack. You are making fun of me!
Gladys. I am perfectly serious, I assure you. My romance is dead!
Jack. You don't mean—