"And not who laughs last?"
She shook her head as she played nervously with the lace upon her sleeve. "No, because the last laugh is apt to be a death rattle."
"You give me the shivers," he protested, with a mock shudder, "do you know you are always clever when you are jealous?"
"But I am not jealous," she retorted indignantly; "there's nobody on earth that's worth it—and besides I'm too happy. I'm as happy as the very happiest human being you know. Who's that?"
He thought attentively for a moment: "By Jove, I believe it's Roger Adams," he replied, amazed at his discovery.
For a while Gerty leaned back upon her pillows and considered the question with closed eyes. "I think you're right," she admitted at last, "but why? Why? What on earth has he ever got from life?"
"He has got a wife," he retorted, with his genial irony.
"Well, I suppose he congratulates himself that he hasn't two," was her flippant rejoinder.
Kemper laughed shortly. "I'm not sure that she doesn't equal a good half dozen."
"And yet he is happy," said Gerty thoughtfully. "I don't know why and I doubt if he knows either—but I truly and honestly believe he's the happiest man I've ever met. Perhaps," she concluded with a quick return to her shallow wit, "it's because he doesn't divide his waking hours between dressmakers and bridge whist."