"I mean it," he went on. "People are much the happier for believing.
The great art of life is to be happy, and, if one is, nothing else
matters."

"Then why don't you believe?"

"Supposing one can't."

"Can't?"

"It isn't given to everyone, you know."

"Then you think we're just like poor animals--"

"Don't say 'poor' animals," he interrupted. "They're ever so much
happier than we."

"Nonsense! They don't know."

"To be ignorant is to be happy. When will you understand that?"

"Never."

"I know what you're thinking of--all the so-called mental development
of mankind--love, memory, imagination, sympathy--all the finer
susceptibilities of our nature. Is it that what you were thinking of?"

"Vaguely. But I couldn't find the words so nicely as you do."

"Perhaps I read 'em and got 'em by heart. But don't you see that all
the fine things I mentioned have to be paid for by increased liability
to mental distress, to forms of pain to which coarse natures are,
happily, strangers?"

"You talk like an unpleasant book," she laughed.

"And you look like a radiant picture," he retorted.

"Ssh! Here we are."

"The moon's rising: it's full tonight. Think of me if you happen to be
watching it," he said.

"I shall be fast asleep."

"And looking more charming than ever, if that be possible. I shall be
having a row with my father."

"I daresay you can hold your own."

"That's what makes him so angry."

Mrs. Farthing, upon opening the door, was surprised to see Mavis
standing beside young Mr Perigal.

"I think you can get home safely now," he remarked, as he raised his
straw hat.

"Thanks for seeing me home."

"Don't forget your fish. Good night."

Mavis thought it well not to enter into any explanation of Perigal's
presence to her landlady. She asked if supper were ready, to sit down
to it directly she learned that it was. But she did not eat; whether or
not her two hours spent in Perigal's company were responsible for the
result, it did not alter the fact that her mind was distracted by
tumult. The divers perplexities and questionings that had troubled her
with the oncoming of the year now assailed her with increased force.
She tried to repress them, but, finding the effort unavailing,
attempted to fathom their significance, with the result of increasing
her distress. The only tangible fact she could seize from the welter in
her mind was a sense of enforced isolation from the joys and sorrow of
ever