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tuneless strains of itinerant musicians. When my new fortunes
enabled me to give the dear woman just the little help that
allowed her to move into a more commodious flat, she had the many
mansions of London to choose from. Why she insisted on this
abominable locality I could never understand. It isn't as if the
flat were particularly cheap; indeed the fact of its being
situated over a publichouse seems to enhance the rent. She said
she liked the shape of the knocker and the pattern of the
bathroom taps. I dimly perceive that it must have had something
to do with the temperament.
It always seems to rain when we propose an outing together.
This is the fourth time since Easter, I remarked.
We had planned a sedate country jaunt, but as the day was pouring
wet we remained at home.
Perhaps this is the way the _bon Dieu_ has of expressing his
disapproval of us, said Judith.
Why should he disapprove? I asked.
A shrug of her shoulders ended in a shiver.
I am chilled through.
My dear girl, I cried, why on earth haven't you lit the fire?
The last time I lit it you said the room was stuffy.
But then it was beautiful blazing sunshine, you illogical
woman, I exclaimed, searching my pockets for a matchbox.
I struck a match. To apply it to the fire I had to kneel by her
chair. She stretched out her handshe has delicate white hands
with slender fingersand lightly touched my 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 armchair 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 tobaccosmoke, 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 halfprofile. Most people would call
her plain. I can't make up my mind on the point. She is what is
termed a negative blondethat is to say, one with very fair hair

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