“I should have thought sometimes you couldn’t help thinking of the past. I don’t mean the past of seven or eight years ago, but further back still, when you first met your wife, and loved her, and married her. Don’t you remember the joy with which you first took her in your arms?”
“I don’t think of the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present.”
I thought for a moment over this reply. It was obscure, perhaps, but I thought that I saw dimly his meaning.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I was silent. I looked at him reflectively. He held my stare, and presently a sardonic twinkle lit up his eyes.
“I’m afraid you disapprove of me?”
“Nonsense,” I answered promptly; “I don’t disapprove of the boa-constrictor; on the contrary, I’m interested in his mental processes.”
“It’s a purely professional interest you take in me?”
“Purely.”