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I am more unmiserable than I have ever been, I think, since I was born." Deb's swift intelligence grasped the truth. "Ah, then she was not so insensate as we thought!" but made allowance for what she diagnosed as a morbid condition of mental health. "Are you happier than you were at Redford young, and loved, and with everything nice about you ?" "Yes.
Deb gazed at her sister's rapt face, glowing in the firelight, and wondered if the brain behind it could be altogether sane. "To call that HAPPINESS!" she ejaculated, with sad irony and scorn. "If you must fix a name to it yes," the widow considered thoughtfully. "After all, 'unmiserable' does not go far enough. I AM happy.
I am only a heathen against my will not so broken-hearted as not to care what happens to me, which I believe is what you think. I am not even sorry I wish I was, but I can't be; in fact, I am so happy, really, that I am going about in a sort of dream, trying to realise it." "Perhaps 'happy' is not the word. I should say unmiserable.
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