Why
shouldn't I carry wood when I am perfectly able to do it? Your
objection is purely an acquired one--a manifestation of the herd
instinct."
There was a slight pause. Professor Spence was wondering if he had
really heard this.
"W--what was that you said?" he asked cautiously.
Desire laughed. He had observed with wonder, amounting almost to
awe, that she never giggled.
"Score one for me!" She turned grey, mirthful eyes on his. Amn't I
learned? I read it in an article in an old Sociological Review--a
copy left here by a man whom father--well, we needn't bother about
that part of it. But the article was wonderful. I can't remember who
wrote it."
"Trotter, perhaps,--yes, it would be Trotter," murmured the
professor.
Desire swung round upon her heels, regarding him a trifle wistfully.
"I should like to know all that you know," she said. "All the
strange things inside our minds."
"Would you? But if you knew what I know you would only know that you
knew nothing at all."
"Yes, it's all very well to say that," shrewdly, "but you don't mean
it. Besides, even if you don't know anything, you have glimpses of
all sorts of wonderful things which might be known. You can go on,
and it's the going on that matters."
"But I can't carry wood."
A little smile curled the corners of Desire's lips. He did not see
it because she had turned to the fire again and, with that
deliberate unself-consciousness which characterized her, was
proceeding to unpin and dry her hair.
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