"That is Monsieur Batiscombe's favourite theory," remarked Madame de Charleroi, just glancing at him, "but he does not believe it the least in the world."
"Is it true?" asked Leonora, innocently, looking up with an expression that did not escape Diana. It was a sort of frightened look, as though it really mattered to her what Batiscombe thought about women in general.
"It pleases madame to be witty," answered Julius, glancing in his turn at Diana. "I have not many theories, but I believe in them as a man who is about to be guillotined believes in death."
"One cannot say more than that," laughed Leonora. "But how about the supremacy of men? There have been more men in the world who have ruled it than there have ever been women."
"Mon Dieu! Men give themselves much more trouble," he replied. "Women, having the divine right given to them straight from Heaven, exercise it without difficulty. A word, a cup of tea, a glance,—and the supremacy of a woman is established. What could a man do with a cup of tea? Or, if he looked at people by the hour together, could he rule them with a glance? When a woman has the gift she finds little difficulty in using it,—whereas the more of it a man has, the more trouble it is to him. Men are so stupid!" And with this sweeping condemnation of his own sex, Julius lit a cigarette, having obtained permission of the two ladies.
"You ought not to have many friends, with such ideas about men," said Leonora.
"En effet," said Diana, "he has none."
"Not among men, at all events," said Julius. "I do not remember ever having any. I do not sleep any the worse on that account, I assure you. It is much more agreeable to have a number of pleasant acquaintances, who expect nothing from you and from whom you expect nothing. Friendship implies mutual obligations; I detest that."
Leonora laughed a little. He had such a vicious way of saying such things, as though he thoroughly meant them. But then he was courteous and gentle to every one, though she suspected he might be different if he were angry. Diana knew very well that what he said was true, and that he had led an isolated life among other men, fighting his way through with his own hand and owing no man anything. She herself had for years been his best friend and his only confidant, though he saw her rarely enough. And now she felt as though even that one bond of his were to be broken,—and whether she would or not, the thought gave her pain, and she wished it could be otherwise.
"It is always far more amusing to detest things," said Leonora, "unless you happen to want them." She was forgetting some of her indifferentism.