human
I wish Lionel was here,
gpt
A Pagan in the temple, a Jew in the church, said Lady Jim, shrugging.
human
My dear, Paris was invented for clergymen to rail at, not to enjoy.
gpt
Lionel is not narrow-minded, Lady James. He approves of innocent amusements.
human
Magic-lanterns and penny readings. I fear Paris cannot supply those dissipations. You can enjoy them under the honeymoon. Meanwhile Mr. Askew is less exacting and more amusing.
gpt
There is no one like Lionel--no one.
human
I grant that, else would the world be innocent and dull.
gpt
I don't understand that,
human
No, assented Leah, with a slow and somewhat envious look;
gpt
Why not?
human
I could give you fifty reasons, but three will do. You are good and kind and healthy-minded to excess--an angel, whose white wings flutter above the mire in which we bipeds grovel. Quite the wife for our unsophisticated padre. St. Sebastian and St. Cecilia--surely a marriage arranged in heaven.
gpt
Do you really mean that?
human
As I rarely mean anything. Let me be candid for once, since we converse in the nursery, and say that I respect Lionel and I respect you.
gpt
I would rather have love,
human
From---- Then in response to an answering blush:
gpt
My dear, I love no one but myself.
human
I can't believe that, or you would not have bothered to bring me to Paris.
gpt
Merely the desire for a new sensation. I assure you, as Lionel assured me, that all my virtues spring from the Ego.
human
What is the Ego?
gpt
Leah Kaimes in this instance.
human
I don't think you are selfish, persisted Joan;
gpt
Oh, but I should; that is my refined form of self-love. When I cry aloud my imperfections, I receive some such compliment as you have paid. Then little god Ego, sitting within my breast, sniffs up the incense.
human
In that case I am selfish, too. I like to be told nice things.
gpt
And to be given nice things, such as---- Well, I expect Lionel, in spite of clerical propriety, can explain better than I, and, added Lady Jim, mischievously,
human
--Leah nursed her knees with clasped hands--
gpt
I suppose when you marry St. Sebastian, you will be wildly happy in a dull country rectory, wearing twice-turned gowns and last year's hats, and fussing after old women and grubby village urchins, with your husband's sermons for relaxation when penny readings pall.
human
Quite happy, assented Joan, laughing at the over-coloured picture--
gpt
As I say: your Ego is his Ego. Dear!