There was a moon somewhere above the awning which gave us a roof. By the dim, uncertain light I could make out her features. It seemed to me she was staying as much on her own account as on mine--because she, too, wished not to be alone with her thoughts. I had not in a long time seen her in a frankly serious mood. “How much better off a man is than a woman,” said I. “A man has his career to think about, while a woman usually has only herself.” “Only herself,” echoed she absently. “And if one is able to think, oneself is an unsatisfactory subject.” “Extremely,” said I. “Faults, follies, failures.” For a time I watched the faintly glowing end of her cigarette and the slim fingers that held it gracefully. Then she said: “Do you believe in a future life?” “Does anyone feel _sure_ of any life but this?” “Then this is one’s only chance to get what one wants--what’s worth while.” “What _is_ worth while?” I inquired, feeling the charm of her quiet, sweet voice issuing upon the magical stillness. “What _is_ worth while?” She laughed softly. “What one wants.” “And what do _you_ want?” She drew her white scarf closer about her bare shoulders, smiled queerly out over the lazily rippling waters. “Love and children,” she said. “I’m a normal woman.” That amused me. “Normal? Why, you’re unique--eccentric. Most women want money--and yet more money--and yet more money--for more and more and always more show.” “You must want the same thing,” retorted she. “You’re too sensible not to know you can’t possibly do any good to others with money. So you must want it for your own selfish purposes. It’s every bit as much for show when you have it tucked away in large masses for people to gape at as if you were throwing it round as the women do.... If anything, your passion is cruder than theirs.” “I think I make money,” said I, “for the same reasons that a hen lays eggs or a cow gives milk--because I can’t help it; because I can’t do anything else and must do something.” “Did you ever try to do anything else?” “No,” I admitted. Then I added, “I never had the chance.” “True,” she said reflectively. “A hen can’t give milk and a cow can’t lay eggs.” “For some time,” I went on, “I’ve been trying to find something else to do. Something interesting. No, not exactly that either. I must find some way of reviving my interest in life. The things I am doing would be interesting enough if I could be interested in anything at all. But I’m not.” She nodded slowly. “I’m in the same state,” said she. “I’ve about decided what to do.” “Yes?” said I encouragingly. “Marry again,” replied she. I laughed outright. “That’s very unoriginal,” said I. “It puts you in with the rest of the women. Marrying is all _they_ can think of doing.”