And the dreadful bond of such a marriage! To have in the closest physical and moral propinquity for one hundred and eighty-six hours out of the week, each hour surcharged with an obligatory exchange of responsibilities, interests, sacrifices of every kind, a being who is not the utter brother of my thoughts and sister of my dreams--no, never! _Au grand non, au grand jamais!_
Judith is an incomparable woman, but she is not the utter brother of my thoughts and the sister of my dreams; nor am I of hers.
But the comradeship she gives me is as food and drink, and my affection fulfils a need in her nature. The delicate adjustment of reciprocals is our sanction. Marriage, were it possible, would indeed be fatal. Our pleasant, free relations, unruffled by storm, are ideal for us both.
Why, I wonder, did she think her proposal to go away for a change would vex me?
The idea implies a right of veto which is repugnant to me. Of all the hateful attitudes towards a woman in which a decent man can view himself that of the Turkish bashaw is the most detestable. Women seldom give men credit for this distaste.
I kissed the white hand of Judith that touched my wrist, and told her not to doubt my understanding. She cried a little.
“I don’t make your path rougher, Judith?” I whispered.
She checked her tears and her eyes brightened wonderfully.
“You? You do nothing but smooth it and level it.”
She laughed, sprang to her feet, and carried me off gaily to the kitchen to help her get the tea ready. My assistance consisted in lighting the gas-stove beneath a waterless kettle. After that I sprawled against the dresser and, with my heart in my mouth, watched her cut thin bread-and-butter in a woman’s deliciously clumsy way. Once, as the bright blade went perilously near her palm, I drew in my breath.
“A man would never dream of doing it like that!” I cried, in rebuke.
She calmly dropped the wafer on to the plate and handed me the knife and loaf.
“Do it your way,” she said, with a smile of mock humility.
“The devil’s in the knife!” I cried. “But that’s the right way.”
Judith said nothing, but bound up my wound, and, like the well-conducted person of the ballad, went on cutting bread-and-butter. Her smile, however, was provoking.