"I predicted you would."
"Well, I am.... It isn't false pride; I don't care what they think
about me. If I chose to be a waiter in a Broadway cafe, their opinion
wouldn't concern me.... I'm simply weary of the place, the majority of
the people--what they think and do, their private life, their mere
coming in and going out.... It isn't the pitiable absurdity of their
offensive environment alone, the horror of the architecture, the gilded
entrails of their abode--it's the whole bally combination! ... I'm
sick--sick! And that's the truth, Diana."
"I think," she said, smiling, "that you are also a little bit bored with
us."
He looked up at her, perplexed, already beginning to be very much
ashamed of his outburst, already conscious of a painful reaction from
his unrestraint.
"Diana," he said impulsively, "I'm just a plain brute, and rather a
vulgar one; but, do you know, there isn't anybody else in the world I'd
have permitted to hear that outburst--whether you take it as a
compliment or not."
"You mean you don't care what I think of you?"