"It's instinct!"
"Maybe with birds. Instincts are all right for birds, but we humans are usually arrested when we follow our instincts."
She laughed. "That is true; it's neither instinct nor happiness that makes us slaves to babies:—it's duty."
"If that were all it is," he said, "the state would be nourishing the majority of infants. No; it's probably fun, Diana. That's the only possible explanation."
She shrugged her dainty shoulders and looked at the westering sun above Staten Island; and in the gesture she seemed, in pantomime, to discard all feminine duties, cares, and responsibilities forever. Then as she rested there, cheek on hand, her blue eyes grew vaguer.
"I am glad you came into our lives," she said; "I mean it this time."
"I am glad, too," he said seriously.
"You are now; I can see that.... How soon will you be sorry?"
"Why?"
She turned toward him.