“You think it would make them feel envious?” asked the lame man.
“I mean nothing of the kind,” said the Vicar.
“Then what do you imagine they would think?”
“They would realise that the Sabbath—the day of rest—was being broken.”
“Then we have your consent to break it with tennis,” said the Chairman.
“It seems to me,” said the Vicar, “that this discussion is being carried into the region of absurdity.”
“I quite agree with the Vicar,” said the lame man.
If I only knew more about women than I do—if I only knew anything about them at all—I might be able to understand the vagarious indetermination of the lady who is contemplating the occupation of a little house quite close to me here in the country.
But I know nothing about the sex—well, next to nothing. That is as near to the truth as a man will get on this subject. His next to nothing, in fact, is next to the truth. And so, with this open confession of ignorance, I can explain nothing about this lady. I can only tell you all the funny things she does.
There is this house to let. Well, it is less than a house. An agent, flourishing his pen over the book of orders to view, would call it a maisonette—what is more, he would be right. It is a little house—a little, tiny house. The view from the balcony round the top of it is beautiful; but from inside, I doubt if you can see anything at all. I have never been inside, but that is what I imagine.
Now, the strange thing about this lady’s attraction for it is that she has occupied it once before. There her children were brought up. From there they were sent out into the world upon that hazardous journey of fortune: that same journey in quest of the golden apple for which the three sons have always set forth, ever since the first fairy tale was written. And so the little house is filled with recollections for her.
She remembers—I have heard her speak of it—the day when Dicky, the youngest boy, fell out from one of the windows. Not a long fall, but it was the devil and all to carry him back into the house. She did not say it was the devil and all. I say it for her, because I know when she was telling it, that was the way she wanted to put it. But a woman can look a little phrase like that, which is so much better than saying it.