“It amounts to that.”
“People been saying catty things?”
“People always do.”
“You and I don’t let ‘people’ dictate our actions.”
Miriam stopped to ask herself how much territory Louise’s “you and I” might be meant to cover. “No,” she assented, “yet there’s something to be said for not giving people unnecessary topics for gossip, especially now that the Eveleys are on exhibition. It would be a pity if your generosity were to be misinterpreted.”
Louise snapped the cover of her bag and sat on a chair facing Miriam. Her face had become serious. “Miriam, dear, are you sure you know why you are so agitated about my attentions to Dare?”
Miriam bit her lip. Had Louise guessed that her appeal was in the nature of a final effort to make Louise intervene between herself and the tyrant which had been inciting her to snatch at any fact or appearance favoring the disloyal cause? “Whatever the cause of my agitation, as you call it, I hope you won’t dismiss my caution as mere meddlesomeness.”
Louise got up and came to place her hands over Miriam’s knees, with an impulsive yet earnest directness. “Our lives are fearfully unstable, dear. We’re constantly raising little edifices in ourselves which we think are solid; then along comes some trickle of feeling and washes the edifice away, leaving only a heap of sand. The problem is to find materials within us more reliable than sand, impervious to chance streams of feeling, with which we can reinforce our edifices, so that they will see us through a lifetime . . . Only after a series of washouts do we recognize the necessity of using a durable mortar, and it takes still longer to discover what materials in us are durable and how to mix them. We’ve only experience to go by. I don’t think I’m over-conceited in saying that I’ve learned my lesson; and I don’t think I’m claiming too much for Dare when I say that he has learned his. In any case we’re answerable only to ourselves, and I don’t see why any one need worry.”
Miriam’s agitation was now undisguised, though its cause was not called into question. Only her impatience restrained her from weeping. “I don’t understand you,” she finally said. “You have outlandish moods which make you do outlandish things, then you offer outlandish explanations in the form of universal laws . . . How are ordinary mortals to be helped by your offhand statement that the solution of personal complications is to find some durable material to cement everything together? That’s begging the question. If you have the durable materials within you, they should protect you from washouts; on the other hand, if you suddenly find yourself in a mess and discover simultaneously that you’re nothing but sand and water, what are you going to do? You can’t borrow concrete from your neighbors.”
“Yes you can. That’s what churches and philosophy and art and schools are for. The other name for concrete is Wisdom. There’s heaps of it in the world; one has only to help oneself.”