‘Because I am almost the only man in England who has ever seen it. Artists should go to the Cannibal Islands for that. . . . J’ai fait le grand tour. I should not wonder if the prophet made you take it.’
‘That would be very much as I chose.’
‘Or otherwise.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That if he wills you to go, I defy you to stay. Eh, Sabina!’
‘Well, you are a very mysterious pair,—and a very charming one.’
‘So we think ourselves—as to the charmingness. . . . and as for the mystery . . . “Omnia exeunt in mysterium,” says somebody, somewhere—or if he don’t, ought to, seeing that it is so. You will be a mystery some day, and a myth, and a thousand years hence pious old ladies will be pulling caps as to whether you were a saint or a devil, and whether you did really work miracles or not, as corroborations of your ex-supra-lunar illumination on social questions. . . . Yes . . . you will have to submit, and see Bogy, and enter the Eleusinian mysteries. Eh, Sabina?’
‘My dear Claude, what between the Burgundy and your usual foolishness, you seem very much inclined to divulge the Eleusinian mysteries.’
‘I can’t well do that, my beauty, seeing that, if you recollect, we were both turned back at the vestibule, for a pair of naughty children as we are.’
‘Do be quiet! and let me enjoy, for once, my woman’s right to the last word!’