I lit another cigarette. “I think the sex feminine has marriage on the brain,” I exclaimed, somewhat heatedly. “My Aunt Jessica was worrying me about it the day before yesterday. As if it were any concern of hers!” Judith laughed below her breath and called me a simpleton. “Why?” I asked. “Because you haven’t got a temperament.” This was a foolish answer, having no bearing on the question. I told her so. She replied that she was years older than I, and had learned the eternal relevance of all things. I pointed out that she was years younger. “How many heart-beats have you had in your life--real, wild, pulsating heart-beats--eternity in an hour?” “That’s Blake,” I murmured. “I’m aware of it. Answer my question.” “It’s a silly question.” “It isn’t. The next time you see a female baby in a perambulator, take off your hat respectfully.” I am afraid I am clumsy at repartee. “And the next time you engage a cook, my dear Judith,” said I, “send for a mere man.” She coloured up. I dissolved myself in apologies. Her wounded susceptibilities required careful healing. The situation was somewhat odd. She had not scrupled to attack the innermost weaknesses of my character, and yet when I retaliated by a hit at externals, she was deeply hurt, and made me feel a ruffianly blackguard. I really think if Lisette had pinned up that curtain I should have learned something more about female human nature. But Judith is the only woman I have known intimately all my life long, and sometimes I wonder whether I shall ever know her. I told her so once. She answered: “If you loved me you would know me.” Very likely she was right. Honestly speaking, I don’t love Judith. I am accustomed to her. She is a lady, born and bred. She is an educated woman and takes quite an intelligent interest in the Renaissance. Indeed she has a subtler appreciation of the Venetian School of Painting than I have. She first opened my eyes, in Italy, to the beauties, as a gorgeous colourist, of Palma Vecchio in his second or Giorgionesque manner. She is in every way a sympathetic and entertaining companion. Going deeper, to the roots of human instinct, I find she represents to me--so chance has willed it--the _ewige weibliche_ which must complement masculinity in order to produce normal existence. But as for the “_zieht uns hinan_”--no. It would not attract me hence--out of my sphere. I could commit an immortal folly for no woman who ever made this planet more lustrous to its Bruderspharen.