nk I ever do anything else."

"Not in the way I mean. You wonder about life and all sorts of things
like that that I don't bother about, but not about people, about what
you feel for them. That's what I mean by wondering."

"Oh, feeling!..." said Ishmael in a gruff embarrassment; "I dunno. Yes I
do, though. I don't think what one feels is so very important--not the
personal part of it, anyway. There's such a lot of things in the world,
and somehow it seems waste of energy to be always tearing oneself to
tatters over one's personal relationship towards any one other person."

Phoebe tried to snatch at the words that blew past over her head as
far as her comprehension of them was concerned.

"But how can you say it's not important?" she exclaimed reproachfully.
"Even being married wouldn't seem important if you looked at it that
way."

"Even being married...." repeated Ishmael. Inwardly came the swift
thought: "Well, why is there all this fuss about it, anyway?" All he
said was:

"Why, have you been thinking of getting married, Phoebe?"

"A lady can't be the first to think of it...." said Phoebe.

"I suppose not," he agreed, true to his own age and that in which he
lived. Conversation lay quiescent between them; he was aware of a
sensation of weariness and wished she would go, pretty as she looked
sitting there in her circle of swelling skirt and trim little jacket
that fitted over her round breast and left bare her soft throat.

"Have you ever ...?" asked Phoebe suddenly.

"Have I ever what?"

"Thought of it ... of getting married?"

"Good Lord! not yet. There's been such a lot of other things...."

"Well, when you do I'll hope you'll be very happy," said Phoebe.

"Thanks! I hope so too."

"I don't suppose you'll know me then."

"Why ever not?"

"Oh, well, of course you'll marry a real lady, and she wouldn't want to
know me. She'd think me common."

"What utter nonsense, Phoebe! Do all girls talk such silly nonsense?
Why, of course I'll always be far too fond of you to lose sight of you,
and I expect you and my wife--how idiotic that sounds--will be no end of
friends." He did not think so; but there struck him that there was
something rather plaintive and wistful about Phoebe that afternoon.
Suddenly she rose and settled the basque of her jacket with quick,
nervous fingers.

"I must go," she said hurriedly. "I don't know what Vassie'll say at me
staying up here like this."

"It was awfully nice