But there are so many things, so many different aims and motives, that complicate life, that puzzle one.

One doesn't know how much to give of one's self, to each--" She stood with her hand on Mary's shoulder, looking away towards the window and the snowy garden, her brow frowning and distressed.
"Well, I don't understand," said Mary, after a pause.

"As I said before, it seems to me so plain and easy--to be in love, and give one's self _all_--to that.

But you are so much cleverer than I, Marcella, you know so much more.

That makes the difference.