Till all be made immortal!’
[p 388]
He quoted the lines softly and with an exquisite gravity.
“That is what you see in Mavis Clare,”—he continued—“that
‘beam on the outward shape’ which ‘turns it by degrees to the soul’s essence,’—and which makes her beautiful, without what is called beauty by lustful men.”
I moved impatiently, and looked out from the window near which we were seated, at the yellow width of the flowing Thames below.
“Beauty, according to man’s ordinary standard,” pursued Lucio, “means simply good flesh,—nothing more. Flesh, arranged prettily and roundly on the always ugly skeleton beneath,—flesh, daintily coloured and soft to the touch, without scar or blemish. Plenty of it too, disposed in the proper places. It is the most perishable sort of commodity,—an illness spoils it,—a trying climate ruins it,—age wrinkles it,—death destroys it,—but it is all the majority of men look for in their bargains with the fair sex. The most utter roué of sixty that ever trotted jauntily down Piccadilly pretending to be thirty, expects like Shylock his ‘pound’ or several pounds of youthful flesh. The desire is neither refined nor intellectual, but there it is,—and it is solely on this account that the ‘ladies’ of the music-hall become the tainted members and future mothers of the aristocracy.”
“It does not need the ladies of the music-hall to taint the already tainted!” I said.
“True!” and he looked at me with kindly commiseration—“Let us put the whole mischief down to the ‘new’ fiction!”
We rose then, having finished luncheon, and leaving the Savoy we went on to Arthur’s. Here we sat down in a quiet corner and began to talk of our future plans. It took me very little time to make up my mind,—all quarters of the world were the same to me, and I was really indifferent as to where I went. Yet there is always something suggestive and fascinating about the idea of a first visit to Egypt, and I willingly agreed to accompany Lucio thither, and remain the winter.
“We will avoid society”—he said—“The well-bred, well-educated ‘swagger’ people who throw champagne-bottles at [p 389] the Sphinx, and think a donkey-race ‘ripping fun’ shall not have the honour of our company. Cairo is full of such dancing dolls, so we will not stay there. Old Nile has many attractions; and lazy luxury on a dahabeah will soothe your overwrought nerves. I suggest our leaving England within a week.”