He merely nodded, deftly swallowing a yawn.
Desire went on:
"Then love is only complete understanding?"
"Always thought it might be some trifle like that," murmured the
drowsy one. "But don't ask me. How should I know? That is," rousing
hastily, "I do know, of course. And it is. There's a squirrel eating
your hat."
Desire changed the position of the hat. But the subject remained and
she resumed it dreamily.
"Then in order that it might be quite complete, the understanding
would have to be mutual. If only one loved, there would always be a
lack."
"Not a doubt of it!" said Spence firmly.
"Well, then--don't you see?"
"See? See what? That squirrel's eating your hat again."
"Go away!" said Desire to the squirrel. And, when it had gone,
"Don't you see?" she repeatedly gravely.
The professor always loved her gravity. And he had not seen. He was,
in fact, almost asleep. "You tell me," he said, rushing upon
destruction.
Then Desire said what she had made up her mind to say. He never knew
exactly what it was because before she actually said the word
"Mary," he was too sleepy, and afterwards he was too dazed.
Mary! The word went through him like an electric shock. It tingled
to his criminal toes. It whirled through his cringing brain like a
pinwheel suddenly lighted. It exploded like a bomb in the recesses
of his false content.
Desire was talking about Mary! Talking about her in that frank and
unembarrassed way which he had always admired.
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