She was learning that Bill Wagstaff, for all his gentleness and
patience with her, was a persistent mortal.
"Well, I do," he continued, unperturbed. "Lots of 'em. But mostly
around one thing--a woman--a dream woman--because I never saw one that
seemed to fit in until I ran across you."
"Mr. Wagstaff," Hazel pleaded, "won't you please stop talking like
that? It isn't--it isn't--"
"Isn't proper, I suppose," Bill supplied dryly. "Now, that's merely an
error, and a fundamental error on your part, little person. Our
emotion and instincts are perfectly proper when you get down to
fundamentals. You've got an artificial standard to judge by, that's
all. And I don't suppose you have the least idea how many lives are
spoiled one way and another by the operation of those same artificial
standards in this little old world. Now, I may seem to you a lawless,
unprincipled individual indeed, because I've acted contrary to your
idea of the accepted order of things. But here's my side of it: I'm in
search of happiness. We all are. I have a few ideals--and very few
illusions. I don't quite believe in this thing called love at first
sight. That presupposes a volatility of emotion that people of any
strength of character arc not likely to indulge in.
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