"Only four!" I said. "I should think one would need a dozen at least to explain such mysteries."
"She says herself she is only at the beginning," Dove replied. "She's now in the first circle—or cycle, I've forgotten which—but the more she reads and the more she thinks about it, the more wonderful it grows. Oh, there was something else—what was it now she called it?—something about the—cosmos, I think she said, but I didn't quite grasp the thing at all."
"I'm surprised," I replied. "It's very simple."
"I suppose it is," Dove answered, quickly, and so humbly that I laughed, but she looked up at me with such a quivering smile, I checked myself. "I suppose it is simple," she replied. "I guess my mind—is not very strong, Bertram. I—I find it so hard to understand some—"
I saw the tears were coming.
"Don't trouble yourself about such things, my dear," I said, cheerfully. "It's a bonny mind you have, you take my word for it."
Dove wiped her eyes.
"No," she said; "when I listen to Letitia, I feel like a—"
"There, there, my dear," I said, "you have things a thousand times more vital and useful and beautiful than this cosmos Letitia talks about. It's only another word for the universe, my love, if I remember rightly—I'm not quite sure myself, but it doesn't matter. It's easy to pronounce, and it may mean something, or it may mean nothing, but we needn't trouble ourselves about it, little one. You have work to do. You must remember Letitia has no such ties to bind her to the simple things, which are enough for most of us to battle with. I am tired of theories myself, dear heart. Work—everyday, humble, loving service is all that keeps life normal and people pleasant to have about. I see so much of this other side, it is always good to come home to you."
I went back to my medical journal—I forgot to say I had come around to my wife's side of our reading-table in settling this perplexing matter; I went back to my work, and she to hers, and we finished the evening very quietly, and in as good health and unruffled spirits as the cosmos itself must enjoy, I think, judging from the easy way it has run on, year after year, age after age, since the dark beginning.