"No," said the doctor,—"not unless Eve were the paradise. And even then, I shouldn't want her any more to myself than to let all the world come and see that she was mine."
"It is a grave question," said Mr. Linden, "whether paradise becomes smaller by being divided. In other words, whether after sharing it with Eve, Adam still retained the whole of it for himself!"
"Just the other way!" said the doctor,—"it was doubled—or trebled. For in the first place he had Eve; she was a second paradise;—then all her enjoyment of paradise was his enjoyment; that was a third;—and in short I should think the multiplication might go on ad infinitum—like compound interest or any other series of happiness impossible to calculate."
"Simple interest isn't a bad thing," said Mr. Linden.
"Yes," said the doctor with an answering flash of his eye, "but it never contented anybody yet that could get it compound—that ever I heard of. Does Miss Derrick understand arithmetic?"
"Miss Derrick," said Mr. Linden, "how many angels can stand on the point of a (darning) needle without jostling each other?"
"Don't be deluded into thinking that is arithmetic," said the doctor. "Some of them would get their feet hurt. What duty has Mr. Linden been persuading you to do to-day?"
"Mr. Linden can tell," said Faith.
Which appeal Mr. Linden answered by deliberately finishing his poem aloud, for the benefit of the company.
"'What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine.
The nectarine, the curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.'