Bill disavowed the gift. Margaret breathed, “Oh, you do; I have so often noticed it.” Bill again denied.
IV.
Conventionality demanded this little exchange of them, and to-day the empress sway of conventionality is rarely rebelled. Even, as here, when treading the path of love, the journey must constantly be stopped while handfuls of the sweet-smelling stuff are tossed about our persons. Neglect the duty and you must walk alone. For to neglect conventionality is like going abroad without clothes; the naked man appears. Now, nothing can be more utterly horrid to our senses than a stark woman or stark man walking down the street. We should certainly pull aside the blind to have a peep, and the more we could see of the nakedness the further would we crane our heads (provided no one was by to watch); but to go out and chat, to be seen in company with the naked creature, is another matter. We would sooner chop off our legs. So with the conventions. The fewer of them you wear, the more naked (that is to say, real) do you become. Eyes will poke at you round the blinds, but you must walk quickly past the gate, please. If you will not go through the machine and come out a nice smooth sausage, well, you must remain original flesh and gristle; but you will smell horrid in nice noses.
Is it not warming, as you read this, to know perfectly well that you are not one of the sausages?
V.
When they had sufficiently daubed themselves, Margaret asked:
“Shall I read the next verse? That was the imagery of our meeting; this of our parting.”
Bill gulped. This man was fondling the scented tresses that trickled about his face; speech was a little difficult.
She put her page beneath the moon; gave her voice to its rapture:
“Our parting! Do you remember, dear,
How Nature our folly knew?
Mournful swish of the sobbing rain;
Distant surge of the Deep in pain;
Whispering wail of the wandering wind,
Seeking, sobbing, a rest to find;
Fitful gleam from a troubled sky
(Nature weeping to see love die).
Ah, love, when last we met!