And the major, who had been permitted to smoke, looked attentively at the lighted end of his cigar, and said nothing.
“I am afraid it must be,” continued Joan, whose earnest endeavours to find out what was her duty, and do it, occupied the larger part of her time and attention.
“Why?” asked Major White.
“Because I don't want to.”
The major thought about the matter for a long time—almost half through a cigar. It was wonderful how so much thought could result in so few words, especially in these days, which are essentially days of many words and few thoughts. During this period of meditation, Joan sat looking out to sea, and the moon shining down upon her face showed it to be puckered with anxiety. Like many of her contemporaries, she was troubled by an intense desire to do her duty, coupled with an unfortunate lack of duties to perform.
“I wish you would tell me what you think,” she said.
“Seems to me,” said White, “that your duty is clear enough.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Drop the Malgamiters and the Haberdashers and all that, and—marry me.”
But Joan only shook her head sadly. “That cannot be my duty,” she said.