"But," said the boy, "you told me all that before, and what I want to know is whether Sequence is not just as much of an emptiness as Superstition is."
"Why, yes, I suppose it is," said Marjorie, hurriedly and almost impatiently;—"but please wait a moment while I explain more fully how I got that band on my waist, for you don't seem to understand. As I said, my grandmother was going down hill—"
"But see here," said the boy, "What in the world is the use of spending time explaining all that, when you admit that it was put there by nothing and is nothing? Why don't you just take it off—or rather, know it off?"
Marjorie stamped her foot with irritation. "You don't understand!" she cried,—"and you won't let me tell you!"
"Well, why should I understand?" asked the boy; "if it isn't real—nor good—nor worth while—nor even existing?"
Marjorie was almost crying. "Oh,
