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I wonder it has not come down to us as one of
the great love-stories of the world.
Elements such as these sway the Morals of the Renaissance.
But I am taking Mrs. McMurray too seriously; and it is really not
a bad idea to have Carlotta taught type-writing.


CHAPTER V

May 26th.
This morning a letter from Judith.
"Do not laugh at me," she writes. "The road to Paris is paved
with good intentions. I really could not help it. Delphine put
her great arm round my would-be sequestered and meditative self
and carried it off bodily, and here it is in the midst of
lunches, picture-shows, dinners, suppers, theatres and dances;
and if you laugh, you will make me humiliated when I confess that
it is thoroughly enjoying itself."
Laugh at her, dear woman? I am only too glad that she can fling
her Winter Garment of Repentance into the Fires of Paris
Springtide. She has little enough enjoyment in friendless
London. Fill your heart with it, my dear, and lay up a store for
use in the dull months to come.


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