The idea implies a right of veto which is repugnant to me. Of all the hateful attitudes towards a woman in which a decent man can view himself that of the Turkish bashaw is the most detestable. Women seldom give men credit for this distaste.
I kissed the white hand of Judith that touched my wrist, and told her not to doubt my understanding. She cried a little.
“I don’t make your path rougher, Judith?” I whispered.
She checked her tears and her eyes brightened wonderfully.
“You? You do nothing but smooth it and level it.”
“Like a steam-roller,” said I.
She laughed, sprang to her feet, and carried me off gaily to the kitchen to help her get the tea ready. My assistance consisted in lighting the gas-stove beneath a waterless kettle. After that I sprawled against the dresser and, with my heart in my mouth, watched her cut thin bread-and-butter in a woman’s deliciously clumsy way. Once, as the bright blade went perilously near her palm, I drew in my breath.
“A man would never dream of doing it like that!” I cried, in rebuke.
She calmly dropped the wafer on to the plate and handed me the knife and loaf.
“Do it your way,” she said, with a smile of mock humility.