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her life sweet, and did I not know how she had yearned for them?
Her age: it is only the very happily married woman who snaps her
fingers at the approach of forty, and even she does so with a
disquieting sense of bravado. And the sweet insolence of youth
says: I am eighteen: how old are you?
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 dinnerI 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.
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 wellwooded
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 forgetmenot
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 today 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

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