'Then let us,' said Virginia, 'be like Jack Sprat and his wife.'
'No,' said the Professor, meditatively, 'that is quite inadmissible. For in that case we should be egoistic hedonists. However, for to-day it shall be as you say. I will think of something better to-morrow.'
Next day he and Virginia had a chicken apiece; only Virginia's was put before Paul, and Paul's before Virginia; and they each walked round the table to supply each other with the slightest necessaries.
'Ah!' cried Paul, 'this is altruism indeed. I think already I can feel the sublimity beginning.'
Virginia liked this rather better. But soon she committed the sin of taking for herself the liver of Paul's chicken. As soon as she had eaten the whole of it her conscience began to smite her. She confessed her sin to Paul, and inquired, with some anxiety, if he thought she would go to hell for it? 'Metaphorically,' said Paul, 'you have already done so. You are punished by the loss of the pleasure you would have had in giving that liver to me, and also by your knowledge of my knowledge of your folly in foregoing the pleasure.'
Virginia was much relieved by this answer; she at once took several more of the Professor's choicest bits, and was happy in the thought that her sins were expiated in the very act of their commission, by the latent pain she felt persuaded they were attended by. Feeling that this was sufficient, she took care not to add Paul's disapproval to her punishment, so she never told him again.
For a short time this practice of altruism seemed to Virginia to have many advantages. But though the Professor was always exclaiming, 'How significant is human life by the very nature of its constitution!' she very soon found it a trifle dull. Luckily, however, she hit upon a new method of exercising morality, and, as the Professor fully admitted, of giving it a yet more solemn significance.
The Professor having by some accident lost his razors, his moustaches had begun to grow profusely, and Virginia had watched them with a deep but half-conscious admiration. At last, in a happy moment, she exclaimed, 'Oh, Paul, do let me wax the ends for you,' Paul at first giggled, blushed, and protested, but, as Virginia assured him it would make her happy, he consented. 'Then,' she said, 'you will know that I am happy, and that in return will make you happy also. Ah!' she exclaimed when the operation was over, 'do go and examine yourself in the glass. I declare you look exactly like Jack Barley—Barley-Sugar, as we used to call him—of the Blues.'
Virginia smiled; suddenly she blushed; the Professor blushed also. To cover the blushes she begged to be allowed to do his hair. 'It will make me so much happier, Paul,' she said. The Professor again assented, that he might make Virginia happy, and that she might be happy in knowing that he was happy in promoting her happiness. At last the Professor, shy and awkward as he was, was emboldened to offer to do Virginia's hair in return. She allowed him to arrange her fringe, and, as she found he did no great harm to it, she let him repeat the operation as often as he liked.
A week thus passed, full, as the Professor said, of infinite solemnity. 'I admit, Paul,' sighed Virginia, 'that this altruism, as you call it, is very touching. I like it very much. But,' she added, sinking her voice to a whisper, 'are you quite sure, Paul, that it is perfectly moral?'