placid calm was no longer stirred, work it would not.

She laughed at his temper; then grew serious, and said:

"Don't get angry, Morris. After all, there are lots of things that you
and I can't understand, and it isn't odd that you should have tumbled
across one of them. If you think of it, nobody understands anything.
They know that certain things happen, and how to make them happen; but
they don't know why they happen, or why, as in your case, when they
ought to happen, they won't."

"It is all very well for you to be philosophical," he answered, turning
upon her; "but can't you see, Mary, that the thing there is my life's
work? It is what I have given all my strength and all my brain to make,
and if it fails in the end--why, then I fail too, once and forever. And
I have made it talk. It talked perfectly between this place and Seaview,
and now you stand there and tell me that it won't work any more because
I don't understand you. Then what am I to do?"

"Try to understand me, if you think it worth while, which I don't; or
go on experimenting," she answered. "Try to find some substance which is
less exquisitely sensitive, something a little grosser, more in key with
the material world; or to discover someone whom you do understand. Don't
lose heart; don't be beaten after all these years."

"No," he answered, "I don't unless I die," and he turned to go.

"Morris," she said, in a softer voice, "I am lazy, I know. Perhaps
that is why I adore people who can work. So, although you don't think
anything of me, I will do my honest best to get into sympathy with you