“All gentlemen like beautiful girls,” she replied, which brought us to an old argument.
This afternoon, however, we did not argue. The day forbade it. I lay with my head on Carlotta’s lap, looking up into the deep blue, and feeling a most curious sensation of positive happiness. My attitude towards life has hitherto been negative. I have avoided more than I have sought. I have not drunk deep of life because I have been unathirst. To me—
“To stand aloof and view the fight
Is all the pleasure of the game.”
My interest even in Judith has been of a detached nature. I have been like Faust. I might have said:
“Werd’ ich zum Augenblicke sagen
Werweile doch! Du bist so schon!
Then may the devil take me and do what he likes with me!”
I have never had the least inclination to apostrophise the moment in this fashion and request it to tarry on account of its exceeding charm. Never until this afternoon, when the deep summer enchantment of the turquoise day was itself ensorcelised by the witchery of a girl’s springtide.
“You have three, four, five—oh, such a lot of grey hairs,” said Carlotta, looking down on my reclining head.
“Many people have grey hair at twenty,” said I.
“But I have none.”