"Well, you see the situation," said I; "if you wish to get another place, I shall be pleased to give you the best possible recommendation."
Of course, I could see that it was a terrible shock to him. To any man who would preserve an attitude of disapproval towards all women, it would be an uncomfortable position in which to find himself. I sympathized with him sincerely, but there was no help for it. I had to put it that way for his own sake, though I knew well what his answer would be. He no more disapproves of women than do I. It is only this attitude which he adopts as a counterblast for the want of approval in women for him. Even Mrs. Bullwell he treats with a stern aloofness of manner, though I have known him take a vase of daffodils which I had condemned as faded and place them in her kitchen. He was careful enough to tell her that it was by my instructions. She thanked me for them herself, but I said nothing to him. And now to have to accept the circumstance of a woman in the house, to be compelled to speak of her as Mrs. Bellairs, to know that she was occupying my bed, that in the near future she would be performing that most terrible of all functions—which I have heard him thank God was left only to women to do—the bringing of a child into the world; to be driven to all this and still to maintain his dignity as a man who has avowed his superior toleration of the whole sex—it was a bad business for Moxon. He did not like the look of it at all.
But I had given him the only loophole for escape. To tell the honest truth, I could not possibly have done without him, and putting it this way, laying myself under an obligation to him should he consent to remain, was the only method I could devise on the moment for keeping him with me.
"What are you going to decide?" said I.
"Well, sir," and he paused. It is this way he gathers weight for his utterances. "I think I know my place. I shouldn't question anything you do, sir, not if I was to be in your service for a hundred years."
"That means you're going to question it now," said I.
"Not at all, sir, I was only going to say that you're the best judge of what you do."
"When any one says that," I observed, "they mean you are the very worst judge possible. Go on. It's extremely interesting to hear what you say and know what you mean. I am behaving extremely injudiciously—well?"
This was far too much for Moxon. To have all his tactful diplomacy shorn of its tinsel wrappings and before his very eyes was more than he could bear. His wit, moreover, was not equal to it. At last I had nonplussed him. His last effort was merely a tour de force; but it was too good for me.
"Do you want me to go, sir?" said he.