"Yes, quite different."
"And good in its own poor way."
He turned his chop. Chops and toast and a blazing fire give forth odors of distracting pleasantness under such circumstances.
"I think," I said, "that each gives point to the other."
"Aren't you glad I took you for ducks?" he asked.
I mused, watching my toast. "I suppose," I said, "no one in his senses would leave a comfortable city house to go and lie out in a marsh at night, in a forty-mile gale, with the mercury at ten, unless he had some other motive than the thing itself—ducks, or conspiracy, or something. And yet it is the thing itself that is the real reward."
"Isn't that true of almost everything?" said Jonathan.