"But I want the light and glitter," she protested. "That's all there is in life. There can't be anything wrong in wanting to have things warm."
"Things will still be warm."
"How?"
"Things will warm themselves from you."
Luella looked at him, startled.
"It's your turn to be the centre, to give others what was given to you for so long. You've got to give security to young people and peace to your husband, and a sort of charity to the old. You've got to let the people who work for you depend on you. You've got to cover up a few more troubles than you show, and be a little more patient than the average person, and do a little more instead of a little less than your share. The light and glitter of the world is in your hands."
He broke off suddenly.
"Get up," he said, "and go to that mirror and tell me what you see."
Obediently Luella got up and went close to a purchase of her honeymoon, a Venetian pier-glass on the wall.
"I see new lines in my face here," she said, raising her finger and placing it between her eyes, "and a few shadows at the sides that might be—that are little wrinkles."