a man rather have so much sympathy with the coming generation
as to spare it the burden of existence? or at any rate not take it
upon himself to impose that burden upon it in cold blood?" By bringing
children into the world by means of a marriage of convenience I should
be imposing the burden of existence upon them in cold blood. I agree
with Schopenhauer.

And the dreadful bond of such a marriage! To have in the closest
physical and moral propinquity for one hundred and eighty-six hours
out of the week, each hour surcharged with an obligatory exchange of
responsibilities, interests, sacrifices of every kind, a being who is
not the utter brother of my thoughts and sister of my dreams--no, never!
_Au grand non, au grand jamais!_

Judith is an incomparable woman, but she is not the utter brother of my
thoughts and the sister of my dreams; nor am I of hers.

But the comradeship she gives me is as food and drink, and my affection
fulfils a need in her nature. The delicate adjustment of reciprocals
is our sanction. Marriage, were it possible, would indeed be fatal. Our
pleasant, free relations, unruffled by storm, are ideal for us both.

Why, I wonder, did she think her proposal to go away for a change would
vex me?

The idea implies a right of veto which is repugnant to me. Of all the
hateful attitudes towards a woman in which a decent man can view himself
that of the Turkish bashaw is the most detestable. Women seldom give men
credit for this distaste.

I kissed the white hand of Judith that touched my wrist, and told her
not to doubt my understanding. She cried a little.

"I don't make your path rougher, Judith?" I whispered.

She checked her tears and her eyes brightened wonderfully.

"You? You do nothing but smooth it and level it."

"Like a steam-roller," said I.

She laughed, sprang to her feet, and carried me off gaily to the kitchen
to help her get the tea ready. My assistance consisted in lighting the
gas-stove beneath a waterless kettle. After that I sprawled against
the dresser and, with my heart in my mouth, watched her cut thin
bread-and-butter in a woman's deliciously clumsy way. Once, as the
bright blade went perilously near her palm, I drew in my breath.

"A man would never dream of doing it like that!" I cried, in rebuke.

She calmly dropped the wafer on to the plate and handed me the knife and
loaf.

"Do it your way," she said, with a smile of mock humility.

I did it my way, and cut my