"Central Park is new to me, you know," said Lois; "and I am very fond of riding,—driving, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the scene is like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is better fun, really, than going after clams. And the people do not seem to enjoy it a quarter as much."
"The people whom you see driving?"
"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most of them."
"Pray why should they go, if they do not find pleasure in it?"
Lois looked at her questioner.
"You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For the same reasons, I suppose, that they do other things."
"Pardon me,—what things do you mean?"
"I mean, all the things they do for pleasure, or that are supposed to be for pleasure. Parties—luncheon parties, and dinners, and—" Lois hesitated.
"Supposed to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuse me—but what makes you think they do not gain their end?"
"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to me as if they really enjoyed what they were doing."