"No, not always—one feels lonely—but it is nice if one is with a suitable companion. How have you, at your age, managed to become self-sufficing?"
"Circumstance, I expect, has taught me the beauty of solitude. I spend months alone in Brittany."
"And what do you do—read most of the time?"
He was so enchanted that she was not turning the conversation into banal things, he determined not to say anything which would cause her again to draw down the blind of bland politeness.
"Yes, I read a great deal. You see, Moravia and I were at a convent together, and there, beyond teaching us to spell and to write and do a few sums and learn a garbled version of French history, a little music, and a great deal of embroidery, they left us totally ignorant—one must try to supply the deficiencies oneself. It is appalling to remain ignorant once one realizes that one is."
"Knowledge on any subject is interesting—did you begin generally—or did you specialize?"
"I always wanted to be just—and to understand things. The whole of life and existence seemed too difficult—I think I began trying to find some key to that and this opened the door to general information, and so eventually, perhaps, one specializes."
He was wise enough not to press the question into what her specializing ran. He adored subtleties, and he noted with delight that she was not so completely indifferent as usual. If he could keep her attention for a little while, they might have a really interesting investigation of each other's thoughts.
"I like thinking of things, too—and trying to discover their meanings and what caused them. We are all, of course, the victims of heredity."
"That may be," she agreed, "but the will can control any heredity. It can only manifest itself when we let ourselves drift. The tragedy of it is that we have drifted too far sometimes before we learn that we could have directed the course if we had willed. Ignorance is seemingly the most cruel foe we have to encounter, because we are so defenseless, not knowing he is there."