I shall come again, if I may."
"Oh, of course, and next time we may both be at home." As the car
started she called out teasingly. "My next maneuver may be more
successful, you know!"
How provoking she was, and how inspiriting! Was she as shrewd, as
sophisticated, as she tried to appear, or was he merely, he asked
himself, the victim of her irrepressible humour, of a prodigious display
of the modern spirit? At least she was a part of her time--not, like
Margaret and himself, a discordant note, a divergent atom, in the
general march toward recklessness and unrestraint. Young as she was, he
felt that she had already solved the problems which he had evaded or
pushed aside. She had learned the secret of transition--a perpetual
motion that went in circles and was never still. Here, he realized, was
where he had lost connection, where he had failed to hold his place in
the turmoil. He had tried to stand off and reach a point of view, to
become a spectator, while the only way to fit into the century was
simply to keep moving in whirls of unintelligent unison; never to
meditate, never to reason upon one's course; but to sweep onward,
somewhere, anywhere as long as it was in a new direction.
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