“You must want the same thing,” retorted she. “You’re too sensible not to know you can’t possibly do any good to others with money. So you must want it for your own selfish purposes. It’s every bit as much for show when you have it tucked away in large masses for people to gape at as if you were throwing it round as the women do.... If anything, your passion is cruder than theirs.”
“I think I make money,” said I, “for the same reasons that a hen lays eggs or a cow gives milk—because I can’t help it; because I can’t do anything else and must do something.”
“Did you ever try to do anything else?”
“No,” I admitted. Then I added, “I never had the chance.”
“True,” she said reflectively. “A hen can’t give milk and a cow can’t lay eggs.”
“For some time,” I went on, “I’ve been trying to find something else to do. Something interesting. No, not exactly that either. I must find some way of reviving my interest in life. The things I am doing would be interesting enough if I could be interested in anything at all. But I’m not.”
She nodded slowly. “I’m in the same state,” said she. “I’ve about decided what to do.”
“Yes?” said I encouragingly.
“Marry again,” replied she.
I laughed outright. “That’s very unoriginal,” said I. “It puts you in with the rest of the women. Marrying is all they can think of doing.”