"None are cured of any ailment unless they resolve to help along the cure themselves," I said.
She gave a weary little laugh.
"Ah, that's one of your pet theories, but it's no use to me! I'm past all helping of myself, so you may give me up as a bad job!"
"But you asked me," I went on—"did you not, to tell you why it is that
I am contented and happy? Do you really want to know?"
A vague distrust crept into her faded eyes.
"Not if it's a theory!" she said—"I should not have the brain or the patience to think it out."
I laughed.
"It's not a theory, it's a truth"—I answered—"But truth is sometimes more difficult than theory."
She looked at me half in wonder, half in appeal.
"Well, what is it?"