"You are going to be philosophical," said Mrs. Fielden; "you are going to quote Protagoras, or Pythagoras, or Plato, which will not convince me in the least. Philosophy tries to make people believe that things are exactly the reverse of what they are. I don't think that alters the sum total of things very much. Because, by the time that you have proved that all agreeable things are disagreeable, and all unpleasant things are pleasant, you are in exactly the same position as you were before. I dare say it fills up people's time to turn everything upside down and stand everything on its head, but it is not amusing."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Couldn't you enjoy yourselves a little?" said Mrs. Fielden, putting on her wistful voice.
"As we are in the Grove of Academe, let me point out that the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake was one of the corrupt forms of a decadent epicureanism," I said sternly.
"I am quite sure it was," said Mrs. Fielden, smiling; "but we were talking about your visit to London, were we not?"
And so I knew that the thing was settled, and I thought it very odd that Palestrina and I had not thought of the plan before.
"As it is getting cold," said Mrs. Fielden, "I am going to be a peripatetic philosopher," and she rose from the seat where we were sitting and gave me her hand to help me up, for I am still awkward with my crutch, and then let me lean on her arm as we walked up and down the broad gravel pathway.
"Don't you think," she began, "that it is a great waste of opportunity not to be wild and wicked sometimes, when one is very good?"
"I am afraid I do not quite follow you."
"What I mean is, what is the good of filling up years of curates and Taylors and flannel petticoats, unless you are going to kick them all over some day, and have a good time. You see, if you and Palestrina were not so good you would always have to pretend to be tremendously circumspect. But it seems such waste of goodness not to be bad sometimes."