He walked back and left Judith standing there, leaning her head against a tree and reflecting. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes assumed a piercing look. It was silent in the wood; no breeze stirred, no bird cried, no animal rustled in the bushes. Time passed. Driven not at all by impatience, but by her thoughts, which were both violent and decisive, she finally left her place, and walked in the direction from which Lorm would have to come. When she had been walking for a while, she saw something golden gleaming in the moss. It was the cigarette case, which she picked up calmly.
Lorm came back sorely vexed. He was silent, and as he walked beside her, she quietly presented the case on her flat hand. He made a gesture of joyous surprise, and she had to tell him how she had found it.
For a while he seemed to be struggling with himself. Suddenly he said: “How much easier life would be with you.”
Judith answered with a smile: “You talk of it as of something unattainable.”
“I believe it to be so,” he murmured, with lowered head.
“If you’re thinking of my marriage,” Judith said, still smiling, “I consider your expression exaggerated. The way out would be simple.”
“I wasn’t thinking of your marriage, but of your wealth.”
“Will you tell me your meaning more clearly.”
“At once.” He looked about him, and went up to a tree. “Do you see that little beetle? Look how busily he works to climb the height before him. He has probably worked his way up a considerable distance to-day. No doubt he started before dawn. When he’s on top, he will have accomplished something. But if I take him between my fingers now and place him at the top, then the very path which his own labour has dug becomes a thing of no value to him. That’s the way it is with beetles and also with men.”
Judith considered. “Comparisons must halt. That’s their prerogative, you know.” She spoke with gentle mockery. “I don’t understand why one should reject another, simply because that other doesn’t come with empty hands. It’s a funny notion.”