They had reached the street, and in silence walked along Bellevue Avenue.
“There are a great many things,” vouchsafed Parker, as they turned out of the avenue to the cliffs, “that men are supposed not to do without—”
“Yes,” said Marguerite, sharply—“vices.”
“I did not refer to them,” laughed Parker. “In fact, Miss Andrews, the heart of man is supposed to be incomplete until he has lost it, and has succeeded in getting another for his very—”
“Are you an admirer of Max Nordau?” interposed Marguerite, quickly.
(“Whatever led you to put that in?” I asked.
“Go on, and you’ll see,” said Harley. “I didn’t put it in. It’s what she said. I’m not responsible.”)
“I don’t know anything about Max Nordau,” said Parker, somewhat surprised at this sudden turn of the conversation.
“Are you familiar with Schopenhauer?” she asked.