I have been to see her this
evening and found her of uncertain temper, and inclined to be
contradictious. She accused me of being dull. I answered that
the autumn world outside was drenched with miserable rain. How
could man be sprightly under such conditions?
"In this room," said Judith, "with its bright fire and drawn
curtains there is no miserable rain, and no autumn save in our
hearts."
"Why in our hearts?" I asked.
"How you peg one down to precision," said Judith, testily. "I
wish I were a Roman Catholic."
"Why?"
"I could go into a convent."
"You had much better go to Delphine Carrere," said I.
"I have only been back a day, and you want to get rid of me
already?" she cried, using her woman's swift logic of unreason.
"I want you to be happy and contented, my dear Judith."
"H'm," she said.
Her slipper dangling as usual from the tip of her foot fell to
the ground. I declare I was only half conscious of the accident
as my mind was deep in other things.
"You don't even pick up my slipper," she said.
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