Now, on the contrary, Judith deserved
compensation, such as I alone was prepared to offer her in spite
of conventional morality and the feelings of the Rev. Rupert
Mainwaring. Indeed, it seemed to be the only way of saving
Judith from being worried out of her life by frantic appeals to
embrace both himself and Primitive Christianity. Her position
was that of Andromeda. Mine that of an unheroic Perseus,
destined to deliver her from the monster--the monster whose lair
is a little tin mission church in Hoxton.
I wrote the letter in one of those periods of semi-vitality when
the pulses of emotion throb weakly, and sensitiveness is dulled.
To-day I have felt differently. My nerves have been restrung.
Something ironically vulgar, sordidly tragic has seemed to creep
into my relations with Judith.
To my great surprise Judith brought her answer in person this
evening. It is the first time she has entered my house; and her
first words, as she looked all around her with a wistful smile
referred to the fact.
"It is almost just as I have pictured it--and I have pictured it-
-do you know how often?"
She was calmer, if not happier.
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