My poor Judith!  Once more, on our walk home, I discoursed to Carlotta on the differences between East and West.

“Seer Marcous,” said Carlotta this evening at dinner—­I have decided now that she shall dine regularly with me; it is undoubtedly agreeable to see her pretty face on the opposite side of the table and listen to her irresponsible chatter:  chatter which I keep within the bounds of decorum when Stenson is present, so as to save his susceptibilities, by the simple device, agreed upon between us (to her great delight) of scratching the side of my somewhat prominent nose—­” Seer Marcous, why does Mrs. Mainwaring keep your picture in her bedroom?”

I am glad Stenson happened to be out of the room.  His absence saved the flaying of my nasal organ.  I explained that it was the custom in England for ladies to collect the photographs of their men friends, and use them misguidedly for purposes of decoration.

“But this,” said Carlotta, opening out her arms in an exaggerated way, “is such a big one.”

“Ah, that,” I answered, “is because I am very beautiful.”

Carlotta shrieked with laughter.  The exquisite comicality of the jest occasioned bubbling comments of mirth during the rest of the meal, and her original indiscreet question was happily forgotten.

CHAPTER X

l0th July.

Judith and I have had our day in the country.  We know a wayside station, on a certain line of railway, about an hour and a half from town, where we can alight, find eggs and bacon at the village inn and hayricks in a solitary meadow, and where we can chew the cud of these delights with the cattle in well-wooded pastures.  Judith has a passion for eggs and bacon and hayricks.  My own rapture in their presence is tempered by the philosophic calm of my disposition.She wore a cotton dress of a forget-me-not blue which suits her pale colouring.  She looked quite pretty.  When I told her so she blushed like a girl.  I was glad to see her in gay humour again.  Of late months she has been subject to moodiness, emotional variability, which has somewhat ruffled the smooth surface of our companionship.  But to-day there has been no trace of “temperament.”  She has shown herself the pleasant, witty Judith she knows I like her to be, with a touch of coquetry thrown in on her own account.  She even spoke amiably of Carlotta.  I have not had so thoroughly enjoyable a day with Judith for a long time.

I don’t think she set herself deliberately to please me.  That I should resent.  I know that women in order to please an unsuspecting male will walk weary miles by his side with blisters on their feet and a beatific smile on their faces.  But Judith has far too much commonsense.