“Love is the only thing worth striving for in this life,” I replied.
“And if one fails to win it?”
“One cannot fail, Miss Walton.”
“Why not?”
“Because the best love is in one’s own heart and depends only on one’s self.”
“And if one has loved,” you responded hurriedly, with a mistiness in your eyes which proved how deeply you were feeling, “if one gives everything—only to find the object base—if”—You stopped speaking and looked away.
“One still has the love, Miss Walton; for it is that which is given, and not that which is received, that is worth the having.” I faltered in my emotion, and then, almost unconscious of what I said, went on: “For many years I have loved,—a love from the first impossible and hopeless. Yet it is the one happiness of my present life, and rather than”—I recovered control of myself, and became silent as I heard Mrs. Blodgett coming along the veranda.
You leaned forward, saying softly, “Thank you for the confidence.” Then, as Mrs. Blodgett joined us, you said, “I envy you your happiness, Dr. Hartzmann.”
“What happiness is that?” asked Mrs. Blodgett, glancing from one to the other curiously.
“Dr. Hartzmann,” you explained calmly, without a trace of the emotion that had moved you a moment before, “has been proving to me that all happiness is subjective, and as I have never been able to rise to such a height I am very envious of him.”