to find how soon—how very soon you will care for nothing else."
"He was all—I had in the world," said Anna, "the one creature who seemed to love me. I am not going to cry. Tears mean very little. I have cried. But that's nothing."
"Nothing," said Legge, staring into the fire, "nothing."
"This is my birthday," said Anna. "I am twenty-three. I feel very old, much older than you, really, and I—I do feel so tired. I am afraid I have been overworking."
"Work is good," murmured Legge, "the only good—except Hope. I have lots of Hope."
"Oh, yes," said Anna, "there is Hope." She looked hopeless.
"I have been harder hit than you," said Legge. "I died twelve years ago; the only thing about me that lives is my stomach. I remember they fed it with chops—on the day She was buried. Life is certainly humorous."
They were both laughing when Mrs. Grimmage came in with the tea. She wanted to know whether they preferred scones or muffins.
