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Her figure is slight but graceful. She has
pretty feet. One protruded from her skirt, and a slipper dangled
from the tip. At last it fell off. I knew it would. She has a
craze for the minimum of material in slippers--about an inch of
leather (I suppose it's leather) from the toe. I picked the vain
thing up and balanced it again on her stocking-foot.
"Will you do that eight years hence?" said Judith.
"My dear, as I've done it eight thousand times the last eight
years, I suppose I shall," I replied, laughing. "I'm a creature
of habit."
"You may marry, Marcus."
"God forbid!" I ejaculated.
"Some pretty fresh girl."
"I abominate pretty fresh girls. I would just as soon talk to a
baby in a perambulator."
"The women men are crazy to marry are not always those they
particularly delight to converse with, my friend," said Judith.
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.


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