is just this one old place—and home, of course, and school, and maybe a trip abroad or somewheres. But what I mean about you, Claire, it wouldn't do 'em any good, prob'ly, if they had been around like you have. What I mean, they wouldn't know how to take in things the way you have. The trouble with them is they wouldn't know how to. You see what I mean, don't you, Claire?"
"I'm not exactly sure," she said. "But I suppose prob'ly that is the trouble with a certain amount of people. Do you know what I believe is the trouble with most people?"
"What is?" he asked solicitously, almost breathlessly; for her tone was deeply serious, and he felt that matters of grave import were before them. "I've often thought about it; but I never did get it worked out in my mind to suit me just right. You can see that most people have got something the matter with 'em; but you can't tell exactly what it is. What do you believe it is, Claire?"
"Well, I've thought about it a great deal, too," she said. "I used to feel it was a question there'd never be any answer to; and sometimes it would make me—oh, I used to get absolutely morbid about it!"
"Did you?" he said gently, touched by the depth
