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(indeed who knows whether dear, goldenhearted Delphine herself
could conscientiously write the magic initials S.C.G.R. after her
name?); but Delphine has never struck me as a person in whose
dwelling one could find conventual seclusion. Judith, however,
explained.
Delphine will be painting all day, and dissipating all night. I
can't possibly disturb her in her studio, for she has to work
tremendously hardand I'm decidedly not going to dissipate with
her. So I shall have my days and nights to my sequestered and
meditative self.
I said nothing: but all the same I am tolerably certain that Judith,
being Judith, will enjoy prodigious merrymaking in Paris. She is
absolutely sincere in her intentionsthe earth holds no sincerer
womanbut she is a selfdeceiver. Her abouttobesequestered
and meditative self was at that moment sitting on the arm of a
chair and smoking a cigarette, with undisguised relish of the good
things of this life. The blue smoke wreathing itself amid her fair
hair resembled, so I told her in the relaxed intellectual frame of
mind of the contented man, incense mounting through the nimbus of
a saint. She affected solicitude lest the lifeblood of my
intelligence should be pouring out through my cut finger. No, I
am convinced that the _recueillement_ (that beautiful French word
for which we have no English equivalent, meaning the gathering of
the soul together within itself) of the rue Boissy d'Anglais is
the very happiest delusion wherewith Judith has hitherto deluded
herself. I am glad, exceedingly glad. Her temperamentI have
got reconciled to her afflictioncraves the gaiety which London
denies her.
And when are you going? I asked.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow?
Why not? I wired Delphine this morning. I had to go out to get
something for lunch (my conviction, it appears, was right),
and I thought I might as well take an omnibus to Charing Cross
and send a telegram.
But when are you going to pack?
I did that last night. I didn't get to bed till four this
morning. I only made up my mind after you had gone, she added,
in anticipation of a possible question.
It is better that we are not married. These sudden resolutions
would throw my existence out of gear. My moral upheaval would be
that of a hen in front of a motorcar. When I go abroad, I like
at least a fortnight to think of it. One has to attune one's
mind to new conditions, to map out the pleasant scheme of days,
to savour in anticipation the delights that stand there, awaiting
one's tasting, either in the mystery of the unknown or in the

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