“That’s true. It comes back to what I said: men have most of the good things.”
“We have to work hard to keep them. Then—it isn’t till we’re old and worn out that we know what’s worth having; life’s a long chase after knowledge, and when we’ve caught it up—if we ever do—we’ve no time left to use it in.”
“But meantime you’ve thoroughly enjoyed the chase?”
“Yes, that’s true; by God, that’s true. If life was a certainty and not the wild speculation it is—it wouldn’t be worth living.”
He stopped short, slowed down the pace of the car almost to a crawl, as he turned and looked searchingly at her.
“You’re—what shall I call you?” he asked—“a witch or a fairy or what? You’ve made me talk more than I’ve ever done to any woman, or man, for the matter of that. There are so few people worth talking to.”
“Because there are so few who know how to listen.”
West greeted this retort with a shout of laughter.
“A hit!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I suppose that’s horribly true—you’re kind enough not to have shown me how I bored you, and so—I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“It’s not that at all,” Marian retorted, putting a touch of anger into her voice. “That’s rude of you; it’s calling me deliberately insincere and also pointing out that what I’ve said might just as well have been unsaid for all you heard or noticed it.”