Monterey," I said.

"Not even among Spanish ghosts."

"I think thou carest at heart for nothing but thy books."

"And a few people, and my religion."

"But they come second, although thou wilt not acknowledge it even to
thyself. Suppose thou hadst to sacrifice thy religion or thy books,
never to read another? Which wouldst thou choose?"

"God of my soul! what a question! No Spanish woman was ever a truer
Catholic; but to read is my happiness, the only happiness I want on
earth."

"Art thou sure that to train the intellect means happiness?"

"Sure. Does it not give us the power to abstract ourselves from life
when we are tired of it?"

"True, but there is another result you have not thought of. The more
the intellect is developed, the more acute and aggressive is the
nervous system; the more tenacious is the memory, the more has one to
live with, and the higher the ideals. When the time comes for you to
live you will suffer with double the intensity and depth of the woman
whose nerves are dull or stunted."

"To suffer you must love, and I never shall love. Who is there to
love? Books always suffice me, and I suppose there are enough in the