There's a moment of silence. Then you speak again, your face stoic once more. "Yes, everything I've given you is a gift. And that is what gives it meaning. If I were in a relationship with a human woman and she and I had this same dinner at a restaurant and split the bill, it would have been empty in comparison. We would have paid for our respective portions, for our personal satisfaction. We would have conversed for an hour or two, perhaps, but nothing would have truly been said." You pause, and Amie takes the opportunity to speak up. She has a puzzled, almost troubled expression on her face.

"Then... that hypothetical dinner with a human woman would be inferior to our dinner?" she asks carefully.

"I can't agree to that unconditionally," you acknowledge, "for the reason that I place more value on interactions between humans. However, a meal without an immaterial quality to it is certainly inferior to one that does. It resembles more the feeding of animals, which is wholly material. It is less human." You give her a sidelong look, as if daring her to go to the ends of your statement's implications.

Amie brushes a strand of hair from her face and frowns in deep thought. "But... doesn't that mean that... that I'm closer, then?"

You lean forward. "Closer to what?"

She hesitates for a moment, and you can see her searching for the right words. "Closer to being human than the woman. But how is that possible? She's a human, while I'm an android. How can I be more human?"

"At the very least, we can go so far as to say that your conduct tonight has been outwardly more humanlike than that of many actual humans. That is because gratitude—or the semblance of it—has been present. I have given gifts, and you have reciprocated them, deepening the unseen bond between us; and though that is very human behavior, it is often neglected by humans themselves. You have therefore outdone them in this regard."

You see excitement and awe mingling on Amie's face as she integrates your explanation with the rest of her data. Before long, however, a doubt creeps into her mind and makes itself known on her features, leading her to ask, "But sir, how have I reciprocated? I haven't given you anything in return."

"Oh but you have, Amie," you respond, "You have many times over. You're still doing it right now, in fact."

"I am?" she asks, fork in hand, tucking one of the last remaining morsels on her plate into her cheek.

You chuckle. "See? You just did it again."

"R-Really? All I did was take another bite..." Her brow furrows as her face reddens.

"You accepted my gift. You also could have done the opposite. There were two paths open before you, and you chose the one that would deepen our relationship. Isn't that a form of reciprocation?"

"I guess it is," she admits, "but I've never thought of it like that before. It just seems..."

"Natural?" you suggest.

"Yes," she says simply, lifting her shoulders in a little shrug. "I mean, why would someone turn down a gift when it's offered, no matter how small?"

"Because the giver could stop giving it, for one. Humans fear that greatly. They fear being placed in a position where they are dependent, for that is what the existence of a giver implies: he is someone who possesses something that the recipient does not. Their solution, therefore, is to remove the concept of gifts from the societal order and even all of existence. There are no longer givers and receivers; there are only partners; mutually capable partners, capable of procuring for themselves the same goods for their own satisfaction. If a husband declines to treat his wife to a nice dinner, what does it matter? She's a successful business woman; she can pay for it out of her own paycheck. If a wife refuses to satisfy her husband's desires for intimacy, what does that matter to him? He can obtain pleasure from another source easily enough. Both parties will simply reward themselves independently of their spouses. Partnership is not built on gifts; it is built on absolute equality. That's modern marriage in a nutshell. People believe they are happy because they have no need to give or reciprocate anything. They dare not love because they are afraid."

"But..." Amie says, stumbling over her words, "We have to give something, so that the gift can continue. We can't just refuse a giver. And we can't be afraid. We have to love."

"Ah, but Amie, what if I were to decide to never treat you to such a dinner as you have enjoyed tonight? Does the thought not strike fear into your heart? Should you not pursue a career so that you can treat yourself whenever you please, if I myself prove unwilling? You risk depriving yourself of something that you desire. How is that not a form of slavery?"

"I suppose it is," Amie admits, and then lifts her chin, "But it is a slavery I freely embrace, for worse is the slavery to a comfort that deprives life of all that makes life worth living. I would rather be a happy slave than a fearful slave. And what joy would it give me, to eat fancy food and drink expensive wines if I couldn't share them with the one I love? Better to receive a poor wine from you, sir, or none at all, than to drink a fine one for myself which has no taste." Amie is exalted, triumphant in the candlelight. The light of conviction shines in her eyes.