Part 12 (2/2)
”The lady took the gloves in her hand, stretched them, and examined them slowly and critically, whilst the D.Y.G.'s head dropped to the artistic angle again.
”After having eyed them in silence for a minute or more, and half conveyed the impression that they were the very gloves she was seeking, the lady placed them without a word on the counter, and the D.Y.G. with perfect understanding replaced them in the box.
”He opened another box containing suede gloves in tan.
”'This also is an excellent glove, madam,' he repeated, with all the precision of a gramophone; 'it is one of our best selling lines, and its wearing qualities are unsurpa.s.sed. You may buy more expensive gloves, but none of better value.'
”This pair is subjected to the same slow and critical examination, after which the lady inquires:
”'What is the price?'
”'The price of these gloves, madam, is seven-and-six.' Professing to confirm his statement by minutely examining the ticket, though, of course, he is perfectly well aware that there is no mistake, he repeats: 'Yes, madam, seven-and-six.'
”Again the gloves are laid upon the counter, and again the D.Y.G.
replaces the lid and attacks another box! Meanwhile the lady's gaze is wandering abstractedly around the shop; picking out an acquaintance here and there she smiles a recognition; and she seems a little vexed when a third pair of gloves is placed before her. The same performance follows, with the same serenity on both sides, but the price has dropped to five s.h.i.+llings.
”Then the kids are produced, in all shades and at all prices, and are in turn deposited upon the counter without comment.
”At last the D.Y.G. has exhausted his stock and his familiar recitations, but fortunately not his urbanity, and he looks at his customer with deprecation in his eyes.
”'You had some white kid gloves in the window a week or two ago,' she murmurs, smiling sweetly; 'ten b.u.t.tons; they were a special price, I think.'
”'Two-and-eleven, madam?' he asks, hopefully.
”'I believe they were. Yes, two-and-eleven,' she responds, as though consideration had confirmed her recollection; and in two minutes more her wants are satisfied, and she departs to another counter to the performance of Scene 2 in the same act.”
”And this is typical of woman's methods?” I ask.
”It serves to show,” he replies, ”how unfathomable her methods are to mere man. When _we_ unimaginative mortals enter a shop for a similar purpose we say:
”'I want a pair of tan kids, seven and three-quarters, about three-and-six,' and before the current of cold air which came in with us has circulated round the shop, we are going out with the little parcel in our pocket. Now why does not woman do the same? _You_ don't know--n.o.body knows; n.o.body really wants to know, or to see her act otherwise.”
”It is a very silly exaggeration,” I said, ”and if it is characteristic of _your_ methods they are certainly not past finding out.”
The Cynic is really a very irritating person. He has a way of ignoring your rejoinders which is most annoying, and makes you want to rise up and shake him. Besides, it isn't courteous.
”Now to return to your own case, Miss Holden. It is not typical and therefore I call it prototypical. _Why_ you have forsaken London society (which in this case I spell with a small 's,' to guard against possible repudiation) is possibly known to yourself, though personally I doubt it. Why, having found the hermitage and the simple life, you have adopted photography as a profession in a village where you will be fortunate if you make an annual profit of ten pounds is another enigma.
But kudos is not everything, and I see in you the archetype of a race of women philosophers of whom the world stands sorely in need.”
”You talk like a book,” I said, ”and use mighty big words which in my case need the interpretation of a dictionary, but I'm afraid they cover a good deal of rubbish, which is typical, if I may say so, of the ordinary conversation of the modern smart man.”
”Nay,” said he, ”but I am in downright earnest. For every effect there must be an adequate cause. You may not understand yourself. The why and wherefore of your action may be hard to discover, but I was wrong when I said that it was unfathomable. Given skill and perseverance, the most subtle compound must yield its a.n.a.lysis, but it is not given to every man to submit a woman's actions to the test, and I beg you to believe that I was not impertinent enough to make any such suggestion.”
”Nevertheless,” I said, ”I may some day allow you to put my actions into the crucible, and see if you can find my real motives. I confess I do not understand myself, and I have nothing to conceal. I think I should rather like to be a.n.a.lysed.”
”Then I may come again?” he asked.
”You may come to be photographed, of course,” I replied.
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