“You arrange life on a basis of love.” He laughed. “It is not always fine. In winter the wind is cold and it shrieks unpleasantly; it is not warm like love—real love—and then there is success. Not to-day, nor to-morrow, but in a month or a year you would, I think, grow weary of your paradise alone.”
“Why did you laugh?”
“At myself and your basis of love.”
His philosophy kept him amused, because he was aware of his own foolishness. If there was a certain amount of pain in the laughter no one noticed it. The others caught up to them.
“I do not like that preacher,” said Mrs. Cooper.
“He is one of my aunt’s favourites,” answered Mr. Wainbridge. “She says his descriptions of hell are so reviving for the sinner.”
“So is lunch,” said Launa, “and I am hungry.”
After lunch Mr. Wainbridge followed Launa to her own sitting-room. He intended to conduct a parting. Emotions brighten the desert of life.
He put his arms round her.
“I like your necktie and your pin,” she said.