In our thoughts, too, we
live so much in the same world. That is just one of the ironies of
life, Nora. Our thoughts can move linked together through all the
flowery and beautiful places of the world, but our bodies--alas, dear!
Do you know how old I really am?"
"I know how young you are," she answered, with a little choke in her
throat.
"I am fifty-four years old," he went on. "I am in the last lap of
physical well-being, even though my mind should continue to flourish.
And you are--how much younger! I dare not think."
"Idiot!" she exclaimed. "At fifty-four you are better and stronger than
half the men of forty."
"I have good health," he admitted, "but no constitution or manner of
living is of any account against the years. In six years' time I shall
be sixty years old."
She leaned a little towards him. Now once more the light was coming
back into her eyes. If that was the only thing with him!
"In twelve years' time from now," she said, "I, too, shall turn over a
chapter, the chapter of my youth. What is time but a relative thing?
Who shall measure your six years against my twelve? The years that
count in the life of a man or a woman are the measure of their
happiness.
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