As he spoke, his voice, brought into sharp contrast with the changeful and animated voice of Carey, sounded almost preposterously thin and worn out.
“She is always conscious of herself in every situation, in every relation of life. While she loves even she thinks to herself, ‘How beautifully I am loving!’ And she never forgets for a single moment that she is a fascinating woman. If she were being murdered she would be saying silently, while the knife went in, ‘What an attractive creature, what an unreplaceable personage they are putting an end to!’”
“Rupert, you are really too absurd!” exclaimed Pierce, laughing reluctantly.
“I’m not absurd. I see straight. Lady Holme is an egoist—a magnificent, an adorable egoist, fine enough in her brilliant selfishness to stand quite alone.”
“And you mean to tell us that any woman can do that?” exclaimed Pierce.
“Who am I that I should pronounce a verdict upon the great mystery? What do I know of women?”
“Far too much, I’m afraid,” said Pierce.
“Nothing, I have never been married, and only the married man knows anything of women. The Frenchmen are wrong. It is not the mistress who informs, it is the loving wife. For me the sex remains mysterious, like the heroine of my realm of dreams.”
“You are talking great nonsense, Rupert.”
“I always do when I am depressed, and I am very specially depressed to-night.”