“There never is an answer,” explained the Philosopher. “The kernel of every sincere opinion is truth. This life contains only the questions—the solutions to be published in a future issue.” “She was a curious sort of young woman,” smiled the Girton Girl; “we used to laugh at her.” “I can quite believe it,” commented the Philosopher. “It is so like shopping,” said the Old Maid. “Like shopping!” exclaimed the Girton Girl. The Old Maid blushed. “I was merely thinking,” she said. “It sounds foolish. The idea occurred to me.” “You were thinking of the difficulty of choosing?” I suggested. “Yes,” answered the Old Maid. “They will show you so many different things, one is quite unable—at least, I know it is so in my own case. I get quite angry with myself. It seems so weak-minded, but I cannot help it. This very dress I have on now—” “It is very charming,” said the Woman of the World, “in itself. I have been admiring it. Though I confess I think you look even better in dark colours.” “You are quite right,” replied the Old Maid; “myself, I hate it. But you know how it is. I seemed to have been all the morning in the shop. I felt so tired. If only—” The Old Maid stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon,” she said, “I am afraid I’ve interrupted.” “I am so glad you told us,” said the Philosopher. “Do you know that seems to me an explanation?” “Of what?” asked the Girton Girl. “Of how so many of us choose our views,” returned the Philosopher; “we don’t like to come out of the shop without something.” “But you were about to explain,” continued the Philosopher, turning to the Woman of the World, “—to prove a point.” “That I had been talking nonsense,” reminded her the Minor Poet; “if you are sure it will not weary you.”