“We all know that virtue is its own reward,” said the doctor.
“Well, that is something hard upon me,” said Miss Dunstable, as she sat down to table. “And you really think that no good of any sort can come from my giving such a party as this?”
“Oh, yes; some people, no doubt, have been amused.”
“It is all vanity in your estimation,” said Miss Dunstable; “vanity and vexation of spirit. Well; there is a good deal of the latter, certainly. Sherry, if you please. I would give anything for a glass of beer, but that is out of the question. Vanity and vexation of spirit! And yet I meant to do good.”
“Pray, do not suppose that I am condemning you, Miss Dunstable.”
“Ah, but I do suppose it. Not only you, but another also, whose judgment I care for perhaps more than yours; and that, let me tell you, is saying a great deal. You do condemn me, Dr. Thorne, and I also condemn myself. It is not that I have done wrong, but the game is not worth the candle.”
“Ah; that’s the question.”
“The game is not worth the candle. And yet it was a triumph to have both the duke and Tom Towers. You must confess that I have not managed badly.”
Soon after that the Greshams went away, and in an hour’s time or so, Miss Dunstable was allowed to drag herself to her own bed.
That is the great question to be asked on all such occasions, “Is the game worth the candle?”