“You make me feel very guilty. I didn’t want to depress you. I’ve been selfish.”
“Oh, I was depressed already! No, you made me feel a little better, somehow.”
“My dear,” you say softly, “I do think you’re taking it harder than I did. You’ve been telling me that I am too sympathetic, too.”
“Well, it isn’t just sympathy, perhaps,” she says. “I was applying everything to myself.”
“You think too much,” you advise. “Stop thinking too hard about life. It never does any good. I know. I’ve done it too.”
She is silent, and you begin again. “Barbara,” taking her hand, “I want to give you some advice. I’m a lot older than you are and I think we’re something alike. Don’t you?”
“Well, yes,” she says. “I have thought so.”
“There are things a lot more important than little married relationships such as Emma’s and mine. It’s those things that really fill our lives, Barbara. For instance this talk I’ve had with you tonight means much more to me than any little love-affair. Don’t you see what I mean?”,
“Yes, I think so. We are friends, aren’t we? Real friends.”
“That’s it. Here we are talking about this and that, and it’s the most pleasant thing I’ve ever done. It’s been a quiet civilized sort of time. Not everyone is capable of such a relationship. Don’t you think we’re a little ahead of the rest of them?”