"But that's all in the day's work, child. I'm beaten
somewhere nearly as often as I win. And really, down inside, leaving out
a little superficial pleasure, I don't care a damn whether I win or
lose. A man couldn't be any good as a lawyer, if he did care, any more
than a surgeon could be any good if he did. You've got to keep a cold
mind or you can't do your best work. And if you've done your best work,
there's nothing to care about. I honestly haven't thought about the
thing once from that day to this. Don't you see how it is?"
He couldn't see how it was, that was plain enough. What he very
reasonably expected was that after so lucid an explanation, she would
turn her wet face up to his, with her old wide smile on it. But that was
not what happened at all. Instead, she just went limp in his arms, and
the sobs that shook her seemed to be meeting no resistance whatever. It
wasn't like her to work herself up in that way over trifles, either;
yet, surely a trifle was all this could be called--a laughable mistake
he couldn't help loving her for, or a touching demonstration of
affection that he couldn't help smiling at.
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