Clem Sypher was in earnest.
"You talk as if your cure had something of a divine sanction," said Zora.
This was before her conversion.
"Mrs.Middlemist, if I didn't believe that," said Sypher solemnly, "do you think I would have devoted my life to it ?" "I thought people ran these things to make money," said Zora.
It was then that Sypher entered on the exordium of the speech which convinced her of the diabolical noisomeness of the Jebusa Jones unguent.
His peroration summed up the contest as that between Mithra and Ahriman.
Yet Zora, though she took a woman's personal interest in the battle between Sypher's Cure and Jebusa Jones's Cuticle Remedy, siding loyally and whole-heartedly with her astonishing host, failed to pierce to the spirituality of the man--to divine him as a Poet with an Ideal.
"After all," said Sypher on the way back--Septimus, with his coat-collar turned up over his ears, still sat on guard by the chauffeur, consoled by a happy hour he had spent alone with his mistress after lunch, while Sypher was away putting the fear of God into his agent, during which hour he had unfolded to her his scientific philosophy of perambulators--"after all," said Sypher, "the great thing is to have a Purpose in Life.

Everyone can't have my Purpose "-- he apologized for humanity--"but they can have some guiding principle.

What's yours ?" Zora was startled by the unexpected question.

What was her Purpose in Life?
To get to the heart of the color of the world?
That was rather vague.

Also nonsensical when so formulated.