“Aren’t you going to say a single word to me?” she inquired of Roger when he had finished the game course. “You can’t still be ravenously hungry.”

“I’ve eaten too much,” replied he. “I’m stupid.”

“It really doesn’t matter, as I’ll see you to-morrow morning.”

“I’m not working to-morrow. I’ve got to go to town.”

“Then the day after?”

“I may stay in town several days.”

Her expression was so hurt, so depressed, that he felt guilty, mean.

“It’s terribly hard to be friends with you, isn’t it?” said she.

“Because I refuse to spend my time idling about?[105] You must choose your friends in your own class. No good ever comes of going out of it.”

[105]

“I’m surprised at your talking about classes in this country.”

“There are classes everywhere—and always will be. A class simply means a group of people of similar sympathies, tastes, habits and means.”

“Means!” said she. “I was under the impression you despised money!”

“I?” He laughed. “No more than I despise food. Money is a kind of food. I want—and I try to get—all of it I need. My appetite is larger than some, smaller than others. I take—or try to take—in proportion to my appetite.”

She nodded thoughtfully. It was in a queer, hesitating voice that she went on to ask: “And you really don’t care to be rich?”

“No more than I want to be fat. And I want to be poor no more than I want to be emaciated.”

Again she reflected. Suddenly she asked: “Do you like this house?”

“Certainly. It is beautiful of its kind.”

“I mean, wouldn’t you like to have such a house?”

 Prev. P 60/220 next