THE LANGUAGE OF COLOUR.
"My dear Clarice," I said, "I may say, in the circumstances, my very dear Clarice, I like being engaged—to you, that is; no, I've never been engaged before—but I don't see the sense of getting married. Even the State seems to deride the idea of our union."
"What do you mean?" said Clarice. "I'm almost alarmed. Have they discovered that you suffered from toothache as a boy?"
"It isn't," I said, "a question of eugenics. I was at Somerset House to-day getting a copy of my birth certificate, and——"
"They surely didn't say anything about our engagement at Somerset House. I didn't suppose they even knew of it," said Clarice.
"Ill news travels apace," I said. "But that by the way. I was about to say that red is a noble colour. It is a bold, a striking colour. A day on which a great event occurs is called 'a red letter day.' Black, on the other hand, may mean nothing, or it may denote sadness."
"Why this going off at a tangent?" said Clarice. "Why this dissertation on colours?"
"I say, that's a good word—I mean that long one just near the end. Did you really learn it, or did you merely come by it? But, as I was saying, red is a colour used for indicating notable events. The State considers a birth is a notable event. Birth certificates are printed in red."
"And death certificates," said Clarice, "in black, I suppose?"
"Yes," I said, "a delicate hint that the State feels sad."