Tarr looked at her for some time in a steady, depressed way. What a treat for his eyes not to be jibing! She held all the imagery of a perfect world. There was no pathos anywhere in her form. Kindness—_bestial kindness_—would be an out-of-work in this neighbourhood. The upper part of her head was massive and intelligent. The middle of her body was massive and exciting. There was no animalism out of place in the shape of a weight of jaw. The weight was in the head and hips. But was not this a complete thing by itself? How did he stand as regards it? He had always been sceptical about perfection. Did she and he need each other? His steadfast ideas of the flower surrounded by dung were challenged. She might be a monotonous abstraction, and, if accepted, impoverish his life. She was the summit, and the summit was narrow. Or in any case was not ugliness and foolishness the richest soil? Irritants were useful though not beautiful. He reached back doubtfully towards his bourgeoise. But he was revolted as he touched that mess, with this clean and solid object beneath his eyes. He was not convinced, though, that he was on the right road. He preferred a cabin to a palace, and thought that a villa was better for him than either, but did not want to order his life so rigidly as that. “What did you make of Kreisler’s proceedings?” she asked him. “In what way do you mean?” “Well, first—do you think he and Bertha—got on very well?” “Do you mean was Bertha his mistress? I should think not. But I’m not sure. That isn’t very interesting, is it?” “Kreisler is interesting, not Bertha, of course.” “You’re very hard on Bertha.” She put her tongue out at him and wrinkled up her nose. A queen, standing on her throne, was obtruding her “unruly member.” “What were Kreisler’s relations with you, by the way?” he asked blankly. Her extreme freedom with himself suggested possible explanations of her manner in discussing Soltyk’s death at the time. “My relations with Kreisler consisted in a half-hour’s conversation with him in a restaurant, and that was all. I spoke to him several times after that, but only for a few minutes. He was very excited the last time we met. I have a theory that his duel and general behaviour was due to unrequited passion for me. Your Bertha, on the other hand, has a theory that it was due to unrequited passion for _her_. I wondered if you had any information that might support her case or mine.” “No. I know nothing about it. I hold, myself, a quite different theory.” “What is that? That he was in love with _you_?” “My theory has not the charming simplicity of your theory or Bertha’s. I don’t believe that he was in love with anybody. I believe, though, that it was a sex-tumult of sorts⸺” “What is that?”