d not be self-indulgent, I might change my
ways. As for the burdens of the world--" Kitty rested her chin on her
clasped hands and looked thoughtful. "One should give pleasure to others.
My dear sir, granting that the great majority of people can't enjoy
anything very keenly, you'll admit that I give pleasure to many more
people than you do. One should help others who are less fortunate; at
present I am supporting just eight people, besides those I hire. There
was never another family in California that had so many cripples and
hard-luckers as that into which I had the honour to be born. The only
ones who could take care of themselves were ruined by the San Francisco
earthquake some time ago. One should make personal sacrifices. I do; I
give money and time and effort to talented students. Oh, I give something
much more than that! something that you probably have never given to any
one. I give, to the really gifted ones, my _wish,_ my desire, my light,
if I have any; and that, Mr. Worldly Wiseman, is like giving one's blood!
It's the kind of thing you prudent people never give. That is what was
in the box of precious ointment." Kitty threw off her fervour with a
slight gesture, as if it were a scarf, and leaned back, tucking her
slipper up on the edge of his seat. "If you saw the houses I keep up,"
she sighed, "and the people I employ, and the motor-cars I run--And,
after all, I've only this to do it with." She indicated her slender
person, which Marshall could almost have broken in two with his bare
hands.

She was, he thought, very much like any other charming woman, except that
she was more so. Her familiarity was natural and simple. She was at ease
because she was not afraid of him or of herself, or of certain half-clad
acquaintances of his who had been wandering up and down the car oftener
than was necessary. Well, he was not afraid, either.

Kitty put her arms over her head and sighed again, feeling the smooth
part in her black hair. Her head was small--capable of great agitation,
like a bird's; or of great resignation, like a nun's. "I can't see why I
shouldn't be self-indulgent, when I indulge others. I can't understand
your equivocal scheme of ethics. Now I can understand Count Tolstoy's,
perfectly. I had a long talk with him once, about his book 'What is Art?'
As nearly as I could get it, he believes that we are a race who can exist
only by gratifying appetites; the appetites are evil, and the existence
they c