"Well, I won't commit myself," he replied. "Have you?"
"Yes," she answered demurely. "To be successful, beautiful and beloved."
"Successful—what do you define as success?"
"Act of succeeding; consequence, issue, outcome or result of an undertaking, whether good or bad," she laughed.
"Oh, hang Webster," he returned. "What's your real, honest-to-goodness idea of success? What do you want most of all? What do you want to do? What do you live for? What's your heart set on as an objective?"
And Mary, sobered a little by the sudden earnestness of his tone, could only shake her head.
"I'm not quite sure," she confessed. "There must be something over the hill—but I don't know what it is."
"Funny," he ruminated. "We're both in the same boat."
"How absurd," she protested instantly. "You give me a pain, Rod. Born to the purple and growling about it! In the same boat, indeed. The only point of similarity is that we're both dissatisfied with what—with what's in sight. You're sighing because no new worlds beckon you to conquer. Everything's at your hand. All you have to do is select your weapon and choose your field. All the prestige of wealth, good family, is at your back. You go somewhere, you want to do something; you mention your name; somebody says, 'Oh, one of the Norquays,' and the way is made easy."
"What's the use of an easy road if there's nothing at the end of it?" Rod asked impatiently.