The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne | Page 7

head.
"How long have we known each other?" she asked.
"About eight years."
"And how long shall we go on?"
"As long as you like," said I, intent on the fire.
Judith withdrew her hand. I knelt on the hearthrug until the merry blaze
and crackle of the wood assured me of successful effort.
"These are capital grates," I said, cheerfully, drawing a comfortable
arm-chair to the front of the fire.
"Excellent," she replied, in a tone devoid of interest.
There was a long silence. To me this is one of the great charms of
human intercourse. Is there not a legend that Tennyson and Carlyle
spent the most enjoyable evenings of their lives enveloped in
impenetrable silence and tobacco-smoke, one on each side of the hob?
A sort of Whistlerian nocturne of golden fog!

I offered Judith a cigarette. She declined it with a shake of the head. I
lit one myself and leaning back contentedly in my chair watched her
face in half-profile. Most people would call her plain. I can't make up
my mind on the point. She is what is termed a negative blonde--that is
to say, one with very fair hair (in marvellous abundance--it is one of
her beauties), a sallow complexion and deep violet eyes. Her face is
thin, a little worn, that of the woman who has suffered--temperament
again! Her mouth, now, as she looks into the new noisy flames, is
drawn down at the corners. Her figure is slight but graceful. She has
pretty feet. One protruded from her skirt, and a slipper dangled from
the tip. At last it fell off. I knew it would. She has a craze for the
minimum of material in slippers--about an inch of leather (I suppose it's
leather) from the toe. I picked the vain thing up and balanced it again
on her stocking-foot.
"Will you do that eight years hence?" said Judith.
"My dear, as I've done it eight thousand times the last eight years, I
suppose I shall," I replied, laughing. "I'm a creature of habit."
"You may marry, Marcus."
"God forbid!" I ejaculated.
"Some pretty fresh girl."
"I abominate pretty fresh girls. I would just as soon talk to a baby in a
perambulator."
"The women men are crazy to marry are not always those they
particularly delight to converse with, my friend," said Judith.
I lit another cigarette. "I think the sex feminine has marriage on the
brain," I exclaimed, somewhat heatedly. "My Aunt Jessica was
worrying me about it the day before yesterday. As if it were any
concern of hers!"
Judith laughed below her breath and called me a simpleton.

"Why?" I asked.
"Because you haven't got a temperament."
This was a foolish answer, having no bearing on the question. I told her
so. She replied that she was years older than I, and had learned the
eternal relevance of all things. I pointed out that she was years younger.
"How many heart-beats have you had in your life--real, wild, pulsating
heart-beats--eternity in an hour?"
"That's Blake," I murmured.
"I'm aware of it. Answer my question."
"It's a silly question."
"It isn't. The next time you see a female baby in a perambulator, take
off your hat respectfully."
I am afraid I am clumsy at repartee.
"And the next time you engage a cook, my dear Judith," said I, "send
for a mere man."
She coloured up. I dissolved myself in apologies. Her wounded
susceptibilities required careful healing. The situation was somewhat
odd. She had not scrupled to attack the innermost weaknesses of my
character, and yet when I retaliated by a hit at externals, she was deeply
hurt, and made me feel a ruffianly blackguard. I really think if Lisette
had pinned up that curtain I should have learned something more about
female human nature. But Judith is the only woman I have known
intimately all my life long, and sometimes I wonder whether I shall
ever know her. I told her so once. She answered: "If you loved me you
would know me." Very likely she was right. Honestly speaking, I don't
love Judith. I am accustomed to her. She is a lady, born and bred. She
is an educated woman and takes quite an intelligent interest in the
Renaissance. Indeed she has a subtler appreciation of the Venetian

School of Painting than I have. She first opened my eyes, in Italy, to
the beauties, as a gorgeous colourist, of Palma Vecchio in his second or
Giorgionesque manner. She is in every way a sympathetic and
entertaining companion. Going deeper, to the roots of human instinct, I
find she represents to me--so chance has willed it--the ewige weibliche
which must complement masculinity in order to produce normal
existence. But as for the "_zieht uns hinan_"--no. It would not attract
me