Our own impression is that at this present date of writing, when Challis, smelling rather strongly of tobacco, is following the little ex-dairymaid up the second flight of stairs to what is known as the young ladies' sitting-room--at this very moment, with the cabman making the most of his inherited Havana, and Judith forming to receive visitors, the position would have been much less likely to supply copy for Mrs. Eldridge than the previous one, but for one thing. Challis's relations with Marianne were, at the moment--say--of the parroquets, intact. What were they now?... They were _something_, or Challis's last unspoken speech to himself on the stairs would not have been, "At any rate, it isn't my fault!" It needed the atmosphere of Judith--amused, if irritated, at her absurdity in getting a sprained ankle--to enable him to shake free--though always under protest--of the Hermitage. "Wasn't it ridiculous of me!... No!--don't sit there; I can't see you.... Wasn't it ridiculous of me to do this--just now of all times in the year?" "I thought you were a passive agent. I mean I didn't know that you _did_ do anything." "No more I did! No more than one does. You know what I mean?" "Couldn't be better expressed! Like when one chokes and thinks one could have helped it, and what a fool one is! But how did it happen?" "Perfectly simple! I was getting down out of the carriage, and forgot to think about my feet. Fenton Arkroyd was passing, and if he's not taken notice of he's sensitive, because he married a laundress, or something. So I forgot to think about my feet. It might have been so easily avoided--with a little common-sense." "So might so many things." Challis isn't the least clear how the common-sense would act in the cases he is talking at--the plagues that beset his own path. But what a capital thing to say!--on general grounds, of course, with a little esoteric meaning all to oneself. Judith, perhaps, thinks it too early in the morning for ethics, as she changes the conversation. "How did you like my little maid?" she says, keeping her eyes closed; which seems absurd after stipulating for visibility on Challis's part. But it all belongs to a certain imperious humour in the grain of her character. And rights of translation are reserved. She can open them if she pleases. "She's new, isn't she? Jolly little party!" Thus Challis. "You're not warm enough! Didn't you want to kiss her?" "Yes, badly--when she gave your message--half-way up...." Judith opened her eyes. You can't laugh with your eyes shut; you snigger. "She really gave it? Do tell me exactly! What did she say?" she asks delightedly, keeping her eyes open to hear the answer. "She turned round on the landing, and became for the moment a mere mass of blooming conscience...." "Is that--excuse me!--to be taken as _language_, or how?"