Molly Sandys was silent.
"And a state of—heart."
Miss Sandys raised her eyebrows.
"Why be insincere?" persisted Ellis.
"I'm not!"
"No—no—I didn't mean you. I meant everybody——"
"I'm somebody——"
"Indeed you are!"—much too warmly; and Molly Sandys looked up at the evening star.
"The simple life," said Ellis, "is an existence replete with sincerity. Impulse may play a pretty part in it; the capacity for the enjoyment of simple things grows out of impulse; and impulse is a child's reasoning. Therefore, impulse, being unsullied, unaffected in its source, is to be respected, cherished, guided into a higher development, so that it may become a sweet reasonableness, an unerring philosophy. Am I right, Miss Sandys?"
"I think you are."