"Karl," she said abruptly, "why don't you and I have any quarrels about which is greater—science or art?"
He looked up at her in such absolute astonishment that she laughed.
"Liebchen," he said, "don't you think that would be going a long way out of our road to hunt a quarrel? Now I can think up much better subjects for a quarrel than that. For instance: Do I love you more than you love me, or do you love me more than I love you? Your subject makes me think of our old debating society. We used to get up and argue in thunderous tones something about which was worse—fire or water!"
"But Karl—it isn't logical that you and I should love each other this way!"
He pushed back his work and turned squarely around to her. He was smiling in his tenderly humorous way. "Well, sweetheart," he said, "would you rather be logical, or would you rather be happy?"
"Oh, I'm not insisting upon the logic. I'm just wondering about it."
"Isn't love greater than either a test tube or a paint brush?" Karl asked softly.
She nodded, smiling at him lovingly.
He sat there looking a long way ahead. She knew he was thinking something out. "Ernestine," he began, "do you ever think much about the oneness of the world?"
"Why, yes—I do, but I didn't suppose you did."