And I can imagine amusement and happiness being quite desirable even at three score years and ten." Nan Davenant grimaced.
"Philosophers," she observed, "are a highly irritating species." "But what do you want, my dear?
You're always kicking against the pricks.
What do you really _want_ ?" The coals slipped with a grumble in the grate and a blue flame shot up the chimney.

Nan stretched out her hand for the matches and lit a cigarette.

Then she blew a cloud of speculative smoke into the air.
"I don't know," she said slowly.

Adding whimsically: "I believe that's the root of the trouble." Penelope regarded her critically.
"I'll tell you what's the matter," she returned.

"During the war you lived on excitement--" "I worked jolly hard," interpolated Nan indignantly.
The other's eyes softened.
"I know you worked," she said quickly.