Mr. Morphew was evidently not sure what sort of language was spoken in Montenegro, and thought it wiser to instruct Sylvia than to expose his own ignorance.
“What color is that?” he suddenly demanded, pointing to the orange coverlet of a settee.
“Orange,” said Sylvia. “Perhaps it’s inclining to some shade of brown.”
“Orange! Brown!” Mr. Morphew scoffed. “It’s blue.”
“Oh, but it’s not!” she contradicted. “There’s nothing blue about it.”
“Blue,” repeated Mr. Morphew. “All is blue. The Azurists deny that there is anything but blue. Blue,” he continued in a rapt voice. “Blue! I was a Blanchist at first; but when we quarreled most of the Blanchists followed me. I shall publish the nineteenth affirmation of the Azurists next week. If you give me your address I’ll send you a copy. We’re going to give the Ovists hell in a new magazine that we’re bringing out. We find that affirmations are not enough.”
“Will it be an ordinary magazine?” Sylvia asked. “Will you have stories, for instance?”
“We don’t admit that stories exist. Life-rays exist. There will be life-rays in our magazine.”
“I suppose they’ll be pretty blue,” said Sylvia.
“All life-rays are blue.”