"It's impossible to feel altogether comfortable when you're selfish," Marjory declared.
He took a thoughtful puff of his cigarette.
"I think you're right about that," he answered. "Only in this case there's no reason in the world for you to feel like that, because I'm comfortable too."
"Honestly?"
"Cross my heart. I'd rather be here than in the finest bed in Paris."
"You're so good," she murmured.
With all her muscles relaxed, and with him there, she felt as if she were floating in the clouds.
"It's strange you've always had that notion, because I 'm not especially good," he replied. "Do you want to go to sleep, or may I talk a while longer?"
"Please to talk."
"Of course," he ran on meditatively, "something depends upon what you mean by being good. I used to think it was merely being decent. I've been that. It happened to be easy. But being good, as I see it now, is being good when it isn't easy—and then something more."