“No; that is the other point of view. The one you don’t see.”
“Have you written to Reuss?”
“Not actually, because he refused to take any answer for a fortnight. But practically.”
“And what is the other point of view,” she demanded—“the one I don’t see?”
Hugh looked from one to the other; it seemed as if Mrs. Allbutt also was waiting to hear about the other point of view.
“Merely that to be effective, to do things, however excellently, isn’t necessarily the only thing in the world worth living for. As you say, you like doing things; you would be bored and discontented if you were not flying about like—like——”
“Well?” said Peggy.
“Well, if you don’t mind, like a bee against a glass window,” said Hugh. “You go banging about in all directions, and stopping really in pretty much the same place.”
“You serpent!” said Peggy. “Pray go on!”
“I think I will, because I’ve been thinking about it, and I probably shall forget unless I say it soon. Oh, I think I was wrong about the bee and the glass window! At least, it only partly applies to you, for you do get through things, although, like the bee, you only charge wildly at them. But you like working sixteen hours a day and having no time for lunch; it pleases you. Add to that that you have a nice nature, and it follows that you work sixteen hours a day for the sake of other people. But——”