I looked at him open-mouthed.
“Do you expect Judith to go and live with you as your wife, in Hoxton?” I asked, bluntly.
“Why not? She is my wife.”
I rose and walked about the room in agitation. Somehow such a contingency had not entered my bewildered head.
“Why not, Sir Marcus?” he repeated.
“Because Judith isn’t that kind of woman at all,” I said, desperately. “She doesn’t like Hoxton, and would be as much out of place in a tin-mission church as I should be in a cavalry charge.”
“God will see to her fitness,” said he, gravely. “To him all things are easy.”
“But she has considerable philosophic doubt as to his personal existence,” I cried.
He smiled prophetically and waved away her doubt with a gesture.
“I have no fears on that score,” he observed.