“But this one is so satisfactory!” cried the Lad. “The mere delight in breathing is enough, if we cannot have anything else. I don’t feel the need of metaphysical certainties so long as I can feel the pulses beat, as they do beat in my wrists.”
“What if your physical joy in living should change into physical pain?” asked Janet, gravely.
“Suppose we talk of something else,” suggested the Lad. “We never get anywhere in discussing questions like this.”
“Except into corners in the argument,” retorted Janet, smiling maliciously. “You are in one now.”
“Well, I’m very happy there,” laughed the Lad.
That was only too evident.
They stayed, talking eagerly of Heaven knows what, until the sun went down. It made a golden background for the profiles outlined against the window-pane. Stray locks of Janet’s hair were touched into sombre brightness, and the colour in her cheeks grew warm and red.
The Lad was gazing at her with softly shining eyes.
CHAPTER XVII
One Sunday afternoon I went to hear the Altruist lecture on the book of Job.