Corona had been moving quietly about the room, giving life to it by her touch, where mechanical hands had done their daily work of dull neatness. She loosened the flowers in a vase, moved the books on the table, pulled the long lace curtains a little out from under the heavy ones, turned a chair here and a knickknack there, set the little calendar on the writing-table, and moved the curtains again. Then at last she paused before the window. Her lids drooped thoughtfully and her mouth relaxed, as she made the remark which caused Giovanni to look up from his paper.
'What strange people there are in the world!' she exclaimed.
'It is fortunate that they are not all like us,' answered Giovanni.
'Why?'
'The world would stop, I fancy. People would all be happy, as we are, and would shut themselves up, and there would be universal peace, the millennium, and a general cessation of business. Then would come the end of all things. Of whom are you thinking?'
'Of those people who came to dinner last night, and of our boys.'
'Of Orsino, I suppose. Yes—I know—' He paused.
'Yes,' said Corona, thoughtfully.
Both were silent for a moment. They thought together, having long been unaccustomed to think apart. At last Giovanni laughed quietly.
'Our children cannot be exactly like us,' he said. 'They must live their own lives, as we live ours. One cannot make lives for other people, you know.'