human
But Nina never studied—barely reads—don’t want to. This sort of thing is her _summum bonum_. I haven’t found anything that makes her happier than for me to put on evening clothes and take her to a flashy up-town restaurant. And she can’t help talking. She has no self-consciousness—no pose. What she says is reality. It’s the wisdom of the tenements she babbles out—the venerable philosophy of the poor. I’m learning a lot from her.
gpt
You needn’t apologize to me,
human
I wasn’t apologizing, he retorted.
gpt
Why should I?
human
I said you needn’t.
gpt
But you meant that I ought to—not to you, but to somebody. To whom? To God? To Mrs. Grundy? No—why should I apologize? —He threw his arm back so that his hand lay on my shoulder, it was the nearest our great love for each other ever came to the expression of a caress—
human
I know you don’t approve, Arnold. But after all whom am I harming? You and I have been leading a pretty glum sort of a life....
gpt
You have, I interrupted.
human
I’m in no position to chuck any self-righteous stones.
gpt
Oh, he said.
human
That’s what you meant when you said I need not apologize to you.
gpt
I suppose so.
human
Well, to whom then? Tell me, he went on when I did not reply at once.
gpt
I’m really glad to have the opinion of a disinterested onlooker. It always helps. Tell me.
human
Good God, I replied to his challenge,
gpt
I’m no oracle—no omniscient voice of conscience. But it looks to me as though apologies were coming to Nina.
human
Nina?
gpt
Yes. Don’t you see what’s happening? She’s falling in love with you. The real thing. She never saw anybody like you before. You’re like the shining white hero of the Bowery melodrama, who rescues the distressed heroine at the last minute—and _marries her_. Of course you and I know that the young millionaires with tenor voices don’t marry the distressed damsels. But remember the kind of dope her mind is filled with. The wedding march always starts up, just before the curtain goes down.