“We are so new,” she said, leaning her elbows on her knees, her chin on her clasped hands. “It is as if the Almighty had flung a lot of brilliant particles together, which cohered symmetrically, and so quickly that the spiritual essence of the universe had no time to crawl inside. I stayed here last winter by myself trying to solve the problem of life, but I only addled my brain. I read and read and read, and thought and thought and thought, and in the end I felt sadder, but not wiser.”
“You can’t find it alone.”
She flushed, and he saw her eyes deepen.
“Then Schuyler Van Rhuys turned up, and I concluded that the best thing I could do was to go to New York and cut a dash in the smart set. And he is such a good fellow. He would fight superbly if there were a war; he would carry me safely out of a mob; he would always be kind, and in a manner companionable, for he is well up on affairs and current art and literature. I should like you to know him, for he is one of the best types of American you will ever meet. But—there is nothing else. And I am the stronger of the two. There is nothing as solitary as that.”
“Don’t marry him. You have no excuse—at your age and with your brain. Wait until you find the right man, even if it is a million years hence.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that——” She paused abruptly. “It isn’t like you to talk exaggerated nonsense. What did you mean by that last?”
“What I said.”
Her lip curled. “You don’t mean to say that you believe in a life after this—you.”
“Why not?”
“Well, do explain.”