"Do you tire of it?" he asked in a softened voice, turning his gaze upon her.
"I?" she laughed, with a bitterness he had never heard in her tone before, "oh, yes, but I suppose that doesn't count in the long run. Did there ever live a woman who hasn't felt at times like railing against the milk pans and denying the eternal necessity of ham and eggs?"
Though she spoke quite seriously the simplicity of her generalisation brought a humorous light to his eyes; and in his imagination he saw Lydia standing upon the white bearskin rug against the oval mirror and the gold-topped bottles upon her dressing-table.
"Well, if I'd made as shining a success at my job as you have at yours, I think I'd be content," was all he said.
She laughed merrily, and he saw that the natural sweetness of her temper was proof against idle imaginings or vain desires.
"You think then that it is better to do a small thing well than a big thing badly?" she inquired.
"But it isn't a small thing," he protested, "it's a great big thing—it's the very biggest thing of all."
A provoking smile quivered on her lips, and he saw the dimple come and go in her cheek.
"I am glad at least that you like my ham and eggs," she retorted mockingly.
"I do," he answered gravely, "I like your ham and eggs, but I admire your courage, also."