Mona laughed softly and then grew very grave.
"I hope you will say twenty years hence, 'How delightful it is that we know each other so well!'"
"I will say it now with all my heart! But it is very interesting to live when every little event of life, every picture one sees, every book one reads, has all the excitement of a lottery, till I hear your opinion of it."
Mona passed her hand through his hair. "Then I hope you will still say twenty years hence, 'How delightful it is that we know each other so little!'"
"I think there is little doubt of that. My conception of you is like a Gothic cathedral: its very beauty lies in the fact that one is always adding to it, but it is never finished. Or, shall I say of you what Kuenen says of Christianity?—'She is the most mutable of all things; that is her special glory.'"
"Varium et mutabile in fact! It is a pretty compliment, but I seem to have heard it before."
"Varium et mutabile semper femina," he repeated, smiling.
"A higher compliment was never paid to your sex. Varium et mutabile—like the sea! I never know whom I shall find when I meet you,—the high-souled philosopher, the earnest student, the brilliant woman of the world, the tender mother-soul, the frivolous girl, or the lovable child. I don't know which of them charms me most. And when I want something more than any of those, before I have time to call her, there she is,—my wife, 'strong and tender and true as steel.'"
Mona did not answer. Her turn would come another time. They knew each other too well to barter compliments like goods and coin across a counter.
"I thought you were going to talk to me," he said presently. "Let us talk about the things that can never be put into words. Imagine I am Gretchen, sitting at your feet. 'Glaubat du an Gott?'"