“That must be very strange,” was all that Dion said just then; but a little later on—he stayed with his mother longer than usual that day because poor little Omar was dead—he remarked:
“D’you know, mater, I believe it’s the right thing to be what’s called a thorough-paced egoist at certain moments, in certain situations.”
“Perhaps it is,” said his mother incuriously.
“I fancy there’s a good deal of rot talked about egoism and that sort of thing.”
“There’s a good deal of rot talked about most things.”
“Yes, isn’t there? And besides, how is one to know? Very often what seems like egoism may not be egoism at all. As I grow older I often feel how important it is to search out the real reasons for things.”
“Sometimes they’re difficult to find,” returned his mother, with an unusual simplicity of manner.
“Yes, but still——Well, I must be off.”
He stood up and looked at the Indian rug in front of the hearth.
“When are you coming to see us?” he asked.