‘Well, Edie dear, I don’t quite know what my own opinions are exactly upon that matter. I’m not an economist, you see, I’m a man of science. When I look at you, standing there so pretty in that pretty dress, I feel inclined to say to myself, “Every woman ought to do her best to make herself look as beautiful as she can for the common delectation of all humanity.” Your beauty, a Greek would have said, is a gift from the gods to us all, and we ought all gratefully to make the most of it. I’m sure I do.’
‘Thank you, Harry, again. You’re in your politest humour this afternoon.’
‘But then, on the other hand, I know if Le Breton were here he’d soon argue me over to the other side. He has the enthusiasm of humanity so strong upon him that you can’t help agreeing with him as long as he’s talking to you.’
‘Then if he were here you’d probably make me put away the peacock-blue, for fear of hubris and Nemesis and so forth, and go up to Oxford a perfect fright in my shabby old Indian tussore!’
‘I don’t know that I should do that, even then, Edie. In the first place, nothing on earth could make you look a perfect fright, or anything like one, Popsy dear; and in the second place, I don’t know that I’m Socialist enough myself ever to have the courage of my opinions as Le Breton has. Certainly, I should never attempt to force them unwillingly upon others. You must remember, Edie, it’s one thing for Le Breton to be so communistic as all that comes to, and quite another thing for you and me. Le Breton’s father was a general and a knight, you see; and people will never forget that his mother’s Lady Le Breton still, whatever he does. He may do what he likes in the way of social eccentricities, and the world will only say he’s such a very strange advanced young fellow. But if I were to take you up to Oxford badly dressed, or out of the fashion, or looking peculiar in any way, the world wouldn’t put it down to our political beliefs, but would say we were mere country tradespeople by birth, and didn’t know any better. That makes a lot of difference, you know.’
‘You’re quite right, Harry; and yet, do you know, I think there must be something, too, in sticking to one’s own opinions, like Mr. Le Breton. I should stick to mine, I’m sure, and wear whatever dress I liked, in spite of anybody. It’s a sweet thing, really, isn’t it?’ And she turned herself round, craning over her shoulder to look at the effect, in a vain attempt to assume an objective attitude towards her own back.
‘I’m glad I’m going to Oxford at last, Harry,’ she said, after a short pause. ‘I HAVE so longed to go all these years while you were an undergraduate; and I’m dying to have got there, now the chance has really come at last, after all. I shall glory in the place, I’m certain; and it’ll be so nice to make the acquaintance of all your clever friends.’
‘Well, Edie,’ said her brother, smiling gently at the light, joyous, tremulous little figure, ‘I think I’ve done right in putting it off till now. It’s just as well you haven’t gone up to Oxford till after your trip on the Continent with me. That three months in Paris, and Switzerland, and Venice, and Florence, did you a lot of good, you see; improved you, and gave you tone, and supplied you with things to talk about.’
‘Why, you oughtn’t to think I needed any improvement at all, sir,’ Edie answered, pouting; ‘and as to talking, I’m not aware I had ever any dearth of subjects for conversation even before I went on the Continent. There are things enough to be said about heaven and earth in England, surely, without one having to hurry through France and Italy, like Cook’s excursionists, just to hunt up something fresh to chatter about. It’s my belief that a person who can’t find anything new to say about the every-day world around her won’t discover much suggestive matter for conversation in a Continental Bradshaw. It’s like that feeble watery lady I met at the table d’hote at Geneva. From something she said I gathered she’d been in India, and I asked her how she liked it. “Oh,” she said, “it’s very hot.” I told her I had heard so before. Presently she said something casually about having been in Brazil. I asked her what sort of place Brazil was. “Oh.” she said, “it’s dreadfully hot.” I told her I’d heard that too. By-and-by she began to talk again about Barbadoes. “What did you think of the West Indies?” I said. “Oh,” said she, “they’re terribly hot, really.” I told her I had gathered as much from previous travellers. And that was positively all in the end I ever got out of her, for all her travels.’
‘My dear Edie, I’ve always admitted that you were simply perfect,’ Harry said, glancing at her with visible admiration, ‘and I don’t think anything on earth could possibly improve you—except perhaps a judicious course of differential and integral calculus, which might possibly serve to tone down slightly your exuberant and excessive vitality. Still, you know, from the point of view of society, which is a force we have always to reckon with—a constant, in fact, that we may call Pi—there can be no doubt in the world that to have been on the Continent is a differentiating factor in one’s social position. It doesn’t matter in the least what your own private evaluation of Pi may be; if you don’t happen to know the particular things and places that Pi knows, Pi’s evaluation of you will be approximately a minimum, of that you may be certain.’