"Ah! I thought so! I did not believe that Iceland produced such a polished creature. You know you are quite unusual, Miss Bush. You have consented, without apparent reluctance, to talk upon interesting subjects to a wearied and middle-aged man, and you have not spoken of golf or dancing—and you have not smoked!"
"I do smoke sometimes, but only when I am doing some tiresome mechanical work like typing."
"Typing?—I suppose it is useful—but what can you have to type? Are you writing a book?"
Katherine gave a sudden soft laugh, infinitely provoking; it made the blood run in Gerard Strobridge's veins, and he viciously played a knave while quivering with a sense of rebellion. He knew what it meant when she laughed like that! When would this ghastly evening end?
And Katherine half whispered: "No, not writing one, but trying to learn out of that greatest volume of all time—the book of life!"
"What can you know of life?" The Duke asked the question as Gerard Strobridge had asked it long ago. "Protected and pampered and kept from all but its pleasant sides—what can girls of our class know of life?"
"Tell me, then, what it is—since I could not be supposed to know?" and her mouth still looked mischievous as well as her eyes.
The Duke thrilled a little.
"Life is either a muddle through, or an achievement. And it contains good things and bad things, and passions—and it is forever trying to express itself, and proclaim its meaning quite regardless of laws."
"'Tis not to stalk about and draw fresh air,
From time to time, or gaze upon the Sun."