Her flippancy, her shallowness left Laura for a minute in doubt as to how she should accept her words. Then rising from her chair, she laid her restraining hands on Gerty's shoulders.
"My darling, do be careful," she entreated.
The shoulders beneath her hands rose in an indifferent shrug. "Oh, I've been careful," laughed Gerty, "but it isn't any fun. Perry isn't careful and he gets a great deal more out of life than I do."
"A great deal more of what?" demanded Laura.
For an instant Gerty thought attentively, while the mocking gayety changed to a serious hardness upon her face.
"More forgetfulness," she answered presently. "That's what we all want isn't it? Call it by what name you will—religion, dissipation, morphia—what we are all trying to do is to intoxicate ourselves into forgetting that life is life."
"But it isn't what I want," insisted Laura, "I want to feel everything and to know that I feel it."
"Well, you're different," rejoined Gerty. "What I'm after is to be happy, and I care very little what form it takes or what kind of happiness mine may be. I've ceased to be particular about the details even—if Billy Lancaster is my happiness I'll devour him and never waste an idle moment in regret. Why should I?—Perry doesn't."
"So there's an end to Perry?"
"An end! Oh, you delicious child, there's only a beginning. Perry's cult is the inaccessible—present him with all the virtues and he will run away; ignore him utterly and he'll make your life insupportable by his presence. For the last twenty-four hours I assure you he's stuck to me—like a briar."