“I don’t know what you mean,” remarked Mrs. Blodgett. “But if the doctor wants to know what real happiness is, he had better marry some nice girl and have his own home instead of living in a boarding-house.”
You laughed, and added, “Now our happiness becomes objective. Perhaps it is the best, after all, Dr. Hartzmann.”
“Do you think so, Miss Walton?” I asked, unable to prevent an emphasis in the question.
You rose, saying, “I must dress for dinner.” But in the window you turned, and answered, “I have always thought it was, but there are evident exceptions, Dr. Hartzmann, and after what you have told me I think you are one of them.”
“And not yourself?” I could not help asking.
You held up your hand warningly. “When the nature of dolls is too deeply questioned into, they are found to contain only sawdust.”
“And we often open the oyster, to find sometimes a pearl.”
“The result of a morbid condition,” you laughed back.
“Better disease and a pearl than health without it.”
“But suppose one incapable of the ailment? Should one be blamed if no pearl forms?”