‘I differ with Miss Stackpole,’ Ralph went on more gravely.
‘I think it very good for you to have means.’

Isabel looked at him with serious eyes. ‘I wonder whether
you know what’s good for me — or whether you care.’

‘If I know depend upon it I care. Shall I tell you what it is?
Not to torment yourself.’

‘Not to torment you, I suppose you mean.’

“You can’t do that; I'm proof. Take things more easily.
Don’t ask yourself so much whether this or that is good for
you. Don’t question your conscience so much — it will get out
of tune like a strummed piano. Keep it for great occasions.
Don’t try so much to form your character — it’s like trying to
pull open a tight, tender young rose. Live as you like best, and
your character will take care of itself. Most things are good for
you; the exceptions are very rare, and a comfortable income’s
not one of them.’ Ralph paused, smiling; Isabel had listened
quickly. “You’ve too much power of thought — above all too
much conscience,’ Ralph added. ‘It’s out of all reason, the number of things you think wrong. Put back your watch. Diet
your fever. Spread your wings; rise above the ground. It’s
never wrong to do that.'