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very contingency I had feared had come to pass. I had prejudiced
Judith against Carlotta. I had aroused the Ishmaeliteher hand
against every woman and every woman's hand against herthat
survives in all her sex.
My dear Judith, said I, if a wicked fairy godmother had
decreed that a healthy rhinoceros should be my housemate you
would have extended me your sympathy. But because Fate has
inflicted on me an equally embarrassing guest in the shape of a
young woman
My dear Marcus, interrupted Judith, the healthy rhinoceros
would know twenty times as much about women as you do. This I
consider one of the silliest remarks Judith has ever made.
Do, she continued, tell me something coherent about this young
person you call Carlotta.
I told the story from beginning to end.
But why in the world did you keep it from me? she asked.
I mistrusted the sixth sense of woman, said I.
The most elementary sense of woman or any one else would have
told you that you were doing a very foolish thing.
How would you have acted?
I should have handed her over at once to the Turkish consulate.
Not if you had seen her eyes.
Judith tossed her head. Men are all alike, she observed.
On the contrary, said I, that which characterises men as a sex
is their greater variation from type than women. It is a
scientific fact. You will find it stated by Darwin and more
authoritatively still by later writers. The highest common
factor of a hundred women is far greater than that of a hundred
men. The abnormal is more frequent in the male sex. There are
more male monsters.
That I can quite believe, snapped Judith.
Then you agree with me that men are not all alike?
I certainly don't. Put any one of you before a pretty face and
a pair of silly girl's eyes and he is a perfect idiot.
My dear Judith, said I, I don't care a hang for a pretty face
except yours.
Do you really care about mine? she asked wistfully.
My dear, said I, dropping on one knee by the sofa, and taking
her hand, I've been longing for it for six weeks. And I
counted the weeks on her fingers.
This put her in a good humour. Now that I come to think of it,
there is something adorably infantile in grown up women. Shall
man ever understand them? I have seen babies (not many, I am
glad to say) crow with delight at having their toes pulled, with a
this little pig went to market, and so forth; Judith almost

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