It would be as unwarrantable for a
decent-minded man to speculate upon her exact spiritual
dimensions as upon those portions of her physical frame that are
hidden beneath her attire. The charm of human intercourse rests,
to a great extent, on the vague, the deliberately unperceived,
the stimulating sense that an individual possesses more
attributes than flash upon the bodily or mental eye. But this, I
say, is deliberate. One knows perfectly well that beneath her
skirts any young woman you please does not melt away into the
scaly tail of a mermaid, but has a pair of ordinary commonplace
legs. One knows that when she has passed through certain well
defined experiences in life, a certain definite range of
sentiments must exist behind whatever mask of facial expression
she may choose to adopt. It is sheer nonsense, therefore, for
Judith to say that I cannot enter into her feelings with regard
to Mrs. Willoughby's invitation.
I developed this theme very fully to Judith as we sat in
Kensington Gardens and during our subsequent, stroll diagonally
through Hyde Park to the Marble Arch.
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