"You wish that?" he inquired.
"Yes," she answered, "I find the exercise beneficial; I have had too much pudding lately."
He looked politely surprised, and she went on to explain.
"It is very wholesome," she said, "but a bit stodgy; I think it is too really good to be taken in such large quantities by any one like me. It is unbelievably good, it makes one perfectly ashamed of oneself; and unbelievably narrow, it makes one long for bed-time."
She broke off to smile at his more genuine surprise, and her smile, like that of some other people of little real beauty, was one of singular charm.
"Did you think I meant actual pudding?" she asked. "I didn't; I meant just the whole life here; if you knew the people well, the real middle class ones, you would understand."
"I think I can understand without knowing them well," he said; "I fancy there is a good deal of pudding about; in fact, I myself am feeling its rather oppressive influence."
"The town is paved with it," Julia declared. "I thought so this afternoon. I also thought, though it is Tuesday, it was just like a spring Sunday; every day is like that."
Rawson-Clew suggested that many people appreciated spring Sundays.
"So do I," Julia agreed, "but in moderation; you can't do your washing on Sunday, nor your harvesting in spring. An endless succession of spring Sundays is very awkward when you have got—well, week-day work to do, don't you think so?"