"Like you?" said Desire, her smile brightening.
The old lady looked pleased.
"Quite so," she said. "Never allow yourself to believe that silly folly about a woman being as old as she looks. As if a mirror had more mind than the person looking in it! I remember very well waking up on the morning of my thirtieth birthday and thinking, 'I am thirty. I am growing old.' But, thank heaven, I had a mind. I soon put a stop to that. 'Not a day older will I grow!' I said. And I never have. What's a mind for, if not to make use of?"
Desire looked a little awed at an audacity which defied time.
"Don't misunderstand me," went on her companion. "I don't mean that I tried to look young. I was young. I am young still."
"Yes," said Desire. "I see what you mean. But—wasn't it lonely?"
The old lady patted her arm with an approving hand.
"Clever child!" she said. "Yes, of course it was lonely. But one can't have everything. Pick out what you want most and cling to it. Let the rest go. It's a good philosophy."
"Isn't it selfish?"
"Youth is always selfish," complacently. "I feel quite complimented now when anyone calls me a selfish creature. You are a bride, aren't you?"