THE MAIDEN.  Oh, don’t talk to me of comfort!  Life is not worth living if you have to bother about comfort.  Comfort makes winter a torture, spring an illness, summer an oppression, and autumn only a respite.  The ancients could make life one long frowsty comfort if they chose.  But they never lift a finger to make themselves comfortable.  They will not sleep under a roof.  They will not clothe themselves:  a girdle with a few pockets hanging to it to carry things about in is all they wear:  they will sit down on the wet moss or in a gorse bush when there is dry heather within two yards of them.  Two years ago, when you were born, I did not understand this.  Now I feel that I would not put myself to the trouble of walking two paces for all the comfort in the world.

STREPHON.  But you don’t know what this means to me.  It means that you are dying to me:  yes, just dying.  Listen to me [he puts his arm around her].

THE MAIDEN [extricating herself] Dont.  We can talk quite as well without touching one another.

STREPHON [horrified] Chloe!  Oh, this is the worst symptom of all!  The ancients never touch one another.

THE MAIDEN.  Why should they?

STREPHON.  Oh, I don’t know.  But don’t you want to touch me?  You used to.

THE MAIDEN.  Yes:  that is true:  I used to.  We used to think it would be nice to sleep in one another’s arms; but we never could go to sleep because our weight stopped our circulations just above the elbows.  Then somehow my feeling began to change bit by bit.  I kept a sort of interest in your head and arms long after I lost interest in your whole body.  And now that has gone.

STREPHON.  You no longer care for me at all, then?

THE MAIDEN.  Nonsense!  I care for you much more seriously than before; though perhaps not so much for you in particular.  I mean I care more for everybody.  But I don’t want to touch you unnecessarily; and I certainly don’t want you to touch me.

STREPHON [rising decisively] That finishes it.  You dislike me.

THE MAIDEN [impatiently] I tell you again, I do not dislike you; but you bore me when you cannot understand; and I think I shall be happier by myself in future.  You had better get a new companion.  What about the girl who is to be born today?

STREPHON.  I do not want the girl who is to be born today.  How do I know what she will be like?  I want you.

THE MAIDEN.  You cannot have me.  You must recognize facts and face them.  It is no use running after a woman twice your age.  I cannot make my childhood last to please you.  The age of love is sweet; but it is short; and I must pay nature’s debt.  You no longer attract me; and I no longer care to attract you.  Growth is too rapid at my age:  I am maturing from week to week.

STREPHON.  You are maturing, as you call it—­I call it ageing—­from minute to minute.  You are going much further than you did when we began this conversation.