She had in her time heard a good deal about _euthanasia_,
and had taken her share in advocating it. I do not assume this to
be anything additional against her; one who does not believe in
God, may in such an advocacy indulge a humanity pitiful over the
irremediable ills of the race; and, being what she was, she was
no worse necessarily for advocating that than for advocating
cremation, which she did--occasionally, I must confess, a little
coarsely. But the notion of _euthanasia_ might well work for
evil in a mind that had not a thought for the case any more than
for the betterment of humanity, or indeed for anything but its
own consciousness of pleasure or comfort. Opinions, like drugs,
work differently on different constitutions. Hence the man is
foolish who goes scattering vague notions regardless of the soil
on which they may fall.
She was used to asking the question, What's the good? but always
in respect of something she wanted out of her way.
"What's the good of an hour or two more if you're not enjoying
it?" she said to herself again and again that Monday. "What's the
good of living when life is pain--or fear of death, from which no
fear can save you?" But the question had no reference to her own
life: she was judging for another--and for another not for his
sake, or from his point of view, but for her own sake, and from
where she stood.
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