"I'm glad you appreciate that," he answered. "Do you honestly think he's any the better for it?"
"I think he's immensely improved," she answered. "He doesn't grub about by himself nearly so much, and he's had his hair cut. I'm sure he looks years younger."
"Do you think that he seems quite as contented?"
"Contented!" she repeated, scornfully. "That's just like you, Richard. He hasn't any right to be contented. No one has. It is the one absolutely fatal state."
He stretched himself out upon, the seat, and frowned.
"You're picking up some strange ideas, Clara," he remarked.
"Well, if I am, that's better than being contented to all eternity with the old ones," she replied. "Mrs. Handsell is doing us all no end of good. She makes us think! We all ought to think, Richard."
"What on earth for?"
"You are really hopeless," she murmured. "So bucolic—"
"Thanks," he interrupted. "I seem to recognize the inspiration. I hate that woman."