“I suppose you think I ought to make a living for her?”
“At the risk of being called a back number, I do.”
“Just when I am beginning to count.”
“Count? Count what?”
“Count as a creative artist.”
“Just what is it you do, Jocelyn?”
“I try to express the Philosophy of Modernism through the medium of the Drama.”
“Who buys it?”
“Nobody.”
“How are you beginning to count, then?”
“Oh, not in the market-place. In my own soul.”
“Forty-nine, fifty,” said the Professor. “Turn here. In your own soul, you say?” He glanced at the youth beside him. “Bambi has sold her birthright for a mess of pottage,” he muttered.
“That’s just the question. Whose duty is it to provide the pottage?”
“Maybe you think it’s mine?”
“Why shouldn’t Science support Art?”
“Humph! Why not let Bambi support you? She says she wants to.”
“I am willing she should support herself, but not me.”
