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How you peg one down to precision, said Judith, testily. I
wish I were a Roman Catholic.
Why?
I could go into a convent.
You had much better go to Delphine Carrere, said I.
I have only been back a day, and you want to get rid of me
already? she cried, using her woman's swift logic of unreason.
I want you to be happy and contented, my dear Judith.
H'm, she said.
Her slipper dangling as usual from the tip of her foot fell to
the ground. I declare I was only half conscious of the accident
as my mind was deep in other things.
You don't even pick up my slipper, she said.
Ten thousand pardons, I exclaimed, springing forward. But she
had anticipated my intention. We remained staring into the fire
and saying nothing. As she professed to be tired I went away
early.
At the front door of the mansions, finding I had left my umbrella
behind, I remounted the stairs, and rang Judith's bell. After a
while I saw her figure through the groundglass panel approach
the door, but before she opened it, she turned out the light in
the passage.
Marcus! she cried, rather excitedly; and in the dimness of the
threshold her eyes looked strangely accusative of tears. You
have come back!
Yes, said I, for my umbrella.
She looked at me for a moment, laughed, clapped her hands to her
throat, turned away sharply, caught up my umbrella, and putting
it into my hands and thrusting me back shut the door in my face.
In great astonishment I went downstairs again. What is wrong
with Judith? She said this evening that all men are cruel. Now,
I am a man. Therefore I am cruel. A perfect syllogism. But how
have I been cruel?
I walked home. There is nothing so consoling to the depressed
man as the unmitigated misery of a walk through the London rain.
One is not mocked by any factitious gaiety. The mind is in
harmony with the sodden universe. It is well to have everything
in the world wrong at one and the same time.
I have changed my drenched garments for dressinggown and
slippers. I find on my writingtable a letter addressed in a
round childish hand. It is from Carlotta, who for the last
fortnight has been staying in Cornwall with the McMurrays. I
have known few fortnights so long. In a ridiculous schoolboy
way I have been counting the days to her returnthe day after
tomorrow.
The letter begins: Seer Marcous dear. The spelling is a little
jest between us. The inversion is a quaint invention of her own.

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