“But why?” I asked.
“She may think,” said Ruth, “that the other person would do the same for her.”
“But she may not think so,” I said, “and still she would stay.”
“Because,” said Virginia, “she would feel good afterward.”
“Yes,” I said, “in a sense it is that. It would give her satisfaction.”
“I would do it,” said Ruth, “but I don’t think I would feel any particular satisfaction afterward.”
“But,” I said, “if you didn’t do it, you would feel dissatisfied with yourself. And therein lies the explanation of duty. Duty is a substitute for love. It is the substitute the mind imposes on us when our feelings will not fulfil the scheme of beauty and order which is our strongest desire. To do your duty is to fulfil your strongest desire—lacking the great love. Love shall overcome duty. Duty means only debt. It is limited, small. It is the ugly framework that love must make before it can build its beautiful dwelling-place. The strong man always does his duty, because he flinches at nothing that is on the path, but more and more he loses duty in love.”
Virginia said: “I think it is fun sometimes to hate things, such as hating to go to school.”
“Why?”
“Because to do a thing you hate to do makes you feel good sometimes. I like it.”