"It's not worth it."
"I know it," replied the Skeptic with another sigh. "But I wish I were
worth--millions."
"Oh, no, you don't," argued the Philosopher.
The Gay Lady and I exchanged glances--through the twilight. We would
have arisen and fled, but the Skeptic caught at my skirts.
"Don't go," he begged. "I'm not really insane--only delirious. It'll
wear off."
"It will," agreed the Philosopher.
"I suppose," began the Skeptic, after some further moments of silence,
"that it's really mostly clothes."
"She's a very charming girl," said the Gay Lady quickly. "I don't blame
you."
"Honestly," said the Skeptic, sitting up and looking at her, "don't you
think her clothes are about all there is of her?"
"No," said the Gay Lady stoutly.
"Yes," said the Philosopher comfortably.
"Yes--and no," said I, as the Skeptic looked at me.
"A girl," argued the Philosopher, suddenly pulling himself out of the
hammock and beginning to pace the floor, "who could come here to this
unpretentious country place with three trunks, and then wear their
contents----Look here"--he paused in front of me and looked at me as
piercingly as somewhat short-sighted blue eyes can look in the
twilight--"did she ever wear the same thing twice?"
"I believe not," I admitted.
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