"Do you still think me 'superior,' Charmian?"
"Do you still dream of your impalpable, bloodlessly-perfect
ideals, sir?"
"No," I answered; "no, I think I have done with dreaming."
"And I have done with this, thy coat, for behold! it is
finished," and rising, she folded it over the back of my chair.
Now, as she stood thus behind me, her hand fell and, for a
moment, rested lightly upon my shoulder.
"Peter."
"Yes, Charmian."
"I wish, yes, I do wish that you were either much younger or
very much older."
"Why?"
"Because you wouldn't be quite so--so cryptic--such a very
abstruse problem. Sometimes I think I understand you better than
you do yourself, and sometimes I am utterly lost; now, if you
were younger I could read you easily for myself, and, if you were
older, you would read yourself for me."
"I was never very young!" said I.
"No, you were always too repressed, Peter."
"Yes, perhaps I was."
"Repression is good up to a certain point, but beyond that it is
dangerous," said she, with a portentous shake of the head.
"Heigho! was it a week or a year ago that you avowed yourself
happy, and couldn't tell why?"
"I was the greater fool!" said I.
"For not knowing why, Peter?"
"For thinking myself happy!"
"Peter, what is happiness?"
"An idea," said I, "possessed generally of fools!"
"And what is misery?"
"Misery is also an idea."
"Possessed only by the wise, Peter; surely he is wiser who
chooses happiness?"
"Neither happiness nor misery comes from choice."
"But--if one seeks happiness, Peter?"
"One will assuredly find misery!" said I, and, sighing, rose, and
taking my hammer from its place above my bookshelf, set to work
upon my brackets, driving them deep into the heavy framework of
the door. All at once I stopped, with my hammer poised, and,
for no reason in the world, looked back at Charmian, over my
shoulder; looked to find her watching me with eyes that were (if
it could well be) puzzled, wistful, shy, and glad at one and the
same time; eyes that veiled themselves swiftly before my look,
yet that shot one last glance, between their lashes, in which
were only joy and laughter.
"Yes?" said I, answering the look. But she only stooped her head
and went on sewing; yet the color was bright in her cheeks.