'But love of women is only one form of sentimentality and not the highest,
nor the deepest,' said Philipps. 'I can imagine a man being exceedingly
sentimental and not caring about women at all.'

'What you say is true,' said Harding. His face showed that he felt the
observation to be true and was interested in it. 'But I think I described
him truly when I said he was like a rock overgrown with moss and lichen.
There is not sufficient root-hold for any idea to grow in him, it withers
and dies. Examine his literature, and you'll see it is as I say. He has
written some remarkable plays, I don't say he hasn't. But they seem to be
better than they are. He gets a picturesque situation, but there is always
something mechanical about it. There's a human emotion somewhere, but it's
never really there; it might have been, but it is not.... It is very well
done, it is very intelligent; but it does not seem to live, to
palpitate.... In like manner there are men who have read everything, who
understand everything, who can theorise; they can tell you all about the
masterpiece, but when it comes to producing one, well, they're not on in
that scene.'

'What an excellent character he would make in a novel! A drama of
sterility,' said Phillips.

'Or the dramas which they bring about,' said Harding.

'Yes, or the dramas they bring about. But what drama can Price bring
about--he shuts himself up in a room and tries to write a play,' said
Phillips. 'I don't see how he can dramatise any life but his own.'

'All deviations from the normal tend to bring about drama,' said Harding.