“I am not sure you have ever been young.” She leaned her chin on her hand and looked at him. Somehow the face of Frank Hamilton ranged itself beside it to-night. A weaker face, yes, but it seemed to her that there was real youth in the passionate eyes, real sentiment in his deep voice, a joie de vivre in his whole being which called to her like the gleam of snow to the Arctic explorer. Was it the strong men of the world who made women happy? Was not the strong man always self-centered, egoistic, taking all and giving nothing? Should a woman ask for too much strength in the man she loved?
Gilbert listened to her indulgently. It was just one of Claudia’s odd moods. His marriage had been quite successful, and therefore so had hers. He knew that she was very popular and that invitations to their house were eagerly coveted. After what his mother said, he would have hated that the marriage should have been a failure, and he had accepted as fuel to his pride his mother’s remark after a dinner-party which they had given and at which Claudia had entertained the Prime Minister, the Lord Chief Justice and other well-known people. “Claudia makes an excellent hostess. After all, there is something to be said for your marriage. The Iversons have always had plenty of savoir faire.” It was said a little grudgingly, for Lady Currey still did not like Claudia. There was nothing to disapprove of so far, but she was always waiting for something.
“I am not sure that you ever were young,” repeated Claudia. “I don’t believe you ever had a freakish, irresponsible mood. I remember Pat saying once, on a beautiful spring morning, that it made her feel as if she’d like to turn somersaults on the grass and yell like a wild Indian every time she came right side up! You never felt like that, did you?”
“But I’m neither a wild Indian nor a dog,” said Gilbert, trying to stifle a yawn. He had felt stimulated while arguing with Neeburg, and had forgotten he was tired. Now the yawns were threatening to descend upon him and he began to feel drowsy. But a glance at Claudia showed him that she was wide awake. She had what her brother called “her brainy look.”
He had resolutely tried to ignore Claudia’s changing and complex moods from the very beginning of their married life. On their honeymoon he had stopped her speculations and questions with kisses. His treatment was clearly right. Claudia had been far less imaginative and introspective in her talk lately. This idea of trying to understand women was all nonsense. He had unconsciously shaped his treatment of women on some words of his father’s à propos of some news he once brought him about a neighbour’s wife who had eloped with another man on the plea that her husband did not “understand her.” “He’s well rid of her,” said his father contemptuously. “There’s nothing to understand in women. Don’t be misled by any of this modern novelist’s jargon, my boy. Women always have suffered from the megrims, and they always will. In one century they are called the ‘vapours,’ in another ‘moods,’ but they are megrims all the same, caused by physical weakness and disabilities and lack of self-control. More harm has been done by humouring women and taking their megrims seriously than will ever be known. It’s responsible for this ‘Votes for Women’ movement, and, mark my words, if women are not kept in their proper place, megrims may ruin the nation!”
“After all,” said Gilbert, “it depends on what you mean by youth. I suppose the dictionary would define it as the state of being young, but it is conceivable that one might improve on that. I was once in the state of being young, you know, because my mother has some of my first teeth!”
Claudia pondered a minute, twisting an old French marquise ring round and round her little finger. “I should think,” she said slowly, “it’s the ability to notice and enjoy all the pleasures of the wayside. Yes, that’s somewhere near it. The man who enjoys life is the one who saunters along, admiring the flowers in the hedgerows, sniffing the different perfumes, watching the insects and the birds, filling his lungs with the good fresh air. The man who doesn’t know how to enjoy life is the one who rushes across country in the fastest touring car he can buy.”
Gilbert rose and looked at the clock. “Lots of weeds and undesirable tramps by the wayside,” he responded dryly.
“Weeds and tramps are part of life. To enjoy every minute of life you must waste a few.”