Harold.Better say I have changed at once.
Lucy.And so you have.
Harold.Who is saying things one has no right to say now?
Lucy.I am only saying what I think.
Harold.Then if you want to have the right to your own thoughts, kindly let me have the right to mine.[Walks to the window.]I can't prevent people sending me invitations, can I?
Lucy.You need not accept them.
Harold.And make enemies right and left, I suppose?
Lucy.I don't want you to do that, and I don't want either to prevent your enjoying yourself; but—but, I do want to see you occasionally.
Harold.And so you do.
Lucy.Yes, very—perhaps I should say I want to see you often.
Harold.And so do I you, but I can't be in two places at once. This is what I mean when I say you are unreasonable. I must go out. If I am to write, I must study people, character, scenes. I can't do that by stopping at home: I can't do that by coming here; I know you and I know your landlady, and there is nobody else in the house, except the slavey and the cat; and although the slavey may be a very excellent servant and the cat a most original quadruped, still, I don't want to make elaborate studies of animals—either four-legged or two. One would imagine, from the way you talk, that I did nothing except enjoy myself. I only go out in the evenings.
Lucy.Still you might spare a little time, now and then, to come and see me, if only for half an hour.
Harold.What am I doing now? I gave up a dinner-party to come here to-night.
Lucy.Do you know it is exactly a month yesterday since you were here last?
