"And you rest the conqueror?"
"In this—yes."
"I could see," said Medway, "some point in it if the existence you lead with me made the fulfilment of your undoubted talent—your genius, perhaps—impossible. But you write wherever we go. You work steadily."
"Yes," said Hagar, "but the work by which you live is not all of life."
"It seems to me that you have touched life at a good many points in these eight years."
"Being with you," said Hagar, "has been a liberal education." She laughed with soft, deliberate merriment, but she meant what she said. From a slender green vase she took an iris, and coming to the wheel-chair knelt down and drew the long stalk through the appropriate buttonhole. "You must have as large a bouquet as that!" she said. "Yes, a university and a training-ship! I can never be sufficiently grateful!"
They both laughed. "Well, you've paid your way!" he said; "literally and metaphorically. I suppose two gratitudes cancel each other—"
"Leaving an understanding friendship." She grew graver. "A good deal of love, too. I want you to realize that." She laughed again. "I do not always approve you, you know, but, thank God! I can love without always approving!"
Medway nodded. "I like a tolerant woman."