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"

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" she said, as he did not speak.
"Beautiful? I don't know. I suppose it is. I was thinking that quite
likely it is true."
"But I didn't suppose you would care about it, Karl. I supposed you would
feel about it as you did about the statue."
"I wonder," he began, slowly, not seeming sure of what he wanted to
say--"how much the comprehension, the understanding of things, that the
loss would bring, would make up for the success taken away? I wonder just
what the defeated fellow could work out of that?"
"But dearie, _is_ it true? Why can failure comprehend success any more
than success can comprehend failure?"
"It's different," he said, shortly.
"How do you know?" she asked banteringly. "What do you know about it? You
don't even know how to spell the word failure!"
He started to say something, but stopped, and then he stooped over and
rested his head for a minute upon her hair. "Tell me about your picture,
Ernestine," he said, quietly, after that.


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