Maud put on her gloves, and fitted her fingers carefully.
“I am out of sorts,” she said; “the world is grievously awry.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I am the matter. It’s nobody else. But what is one to do?”
Maud knew she was being unwise. She knew perfectly well that she would be sorry for this, but the hope that Tom might understand seemed to her the only thing worth caring for, and at the same time the one thing in all the world which she dreaded. She was afraid, desperately afraid, of saying too much, but she could not help herself. “Why will not he understand?” she thought, “and God forbid that he should.” But Tom was in a thoroughly superficial mood. He said to himself that Maud was out of sorts, that she was overtired and worried.
“Man disquieteth himself in vain,” he said. “It is best to take living very lightly. We all of us have something we want to do or be, and cannot do or be it. We are wise if we let it alone. There is much I want to do and be, and cannot manage it, and every one is in the same plight. After all, if we aim at being contented, that is enough.”
Maud got up.
“Aim at being contented? Aim at being in Heaven! We have to remember that we are on earth.”
Tom rose too.
“What is the matter?” he said; “do tell me.”