Part 15 (1/2)
”One cannot fail, Miss Walton.”
”Why not?”
”Because the best love is in one's own heart and depends only on one's self.”
”And if one has loved,” you responded hurriedly, with a mistiness in your eyes which proved how deeply you were feeling, ”if one gives everything--only to find the object base--if”--You stopped speaking and looked away.
”One still has the love, Miss Walton; for it is that which is given, and not that which is received, that is worth the having.” I faltered in my emotion, and then, almost unconscious of what I said, went on: ”For many years I have loved,--a love from the first impossible and hopeless.
Yet it is the one happiness of my present life, and rather than”--I recovered control of myself, and became silent as I heard Mrs. Blodgett coming along the veranda.
You leaned forward, saying softly, ”Thank you for the confidence.” Then, as Mrs. Blodgett joined us, you said, ”I envy you your happiness, Dr.
Hartzmann.”
”What happiness is that?” asked Mrs. Blodgett, glancing from one to the other curiously.
”Dr. Hartzmann,” you explained calmly, without a trace of the emotion that had moved you a moment before, ”has been proving to me that all happiness is subjective, and as I have never been able to rise to such a height I am very envious of him.”
”I don't know what you mean,” remarked Mrs. Blodgett. ”But if the doctor wants to know what real happiness is, he had better marry some nice girl and have his own home instead of living in a boarding-house.”
You laughed, and added, ”Now our happiness becomes objective. Perhaps it is the best, after all, Dr. Hartzmann.”
”Do _you_ think so, Miss Walton?” I asked, unable to prevent an emphasis in the question.
You rose, saying, ”I must dress for dinner.” But in the window you turned, and answered, ”I have always thought it was, but there are evident exceptions, Dr. Hartzmann, and after what you have told me I think you are one of them.”
”And not yourself?” I could not help asking.
You held up your hand warningly. ”When the nature of dolls is too deeply questioned into, they are found to contain only sawdust.”
”And we often open the oyster, to find sometimes a pearl.”
”The result of a morbid condition,” you laughed back.
”Better disease and a pearl than health without it.”
”But suppose one incapable of the ailment? Should one be blamed if no pearl forms?”
”An Eastern poet said:--
Diving and finding no pearl in the sea, Blame not the ocean,--the fault is in thee.
Have you ever tried to find a pearl, Miss Walton?”
You hesitated a moment. ”Like the Englishman's view of the conundrum,”
you finally parried archly, ”that would be a good joke if there only wasn't something to 'guess' in it.”
”Do you know what Maizie is talking about?” demanded Mrs. Blodgett discontentedly.