Up to a certain point, in any case that's the least a case for subtlety, he sees nothing at all; but beyond it--when once he does wake up--he'll go through a house.Nothing then escapes him, and what he drags to light is sometimes appalling.""Rather," I thoughtfully responded--"since witness this occasion!""But isn't the interest of this occasion, as I've already suggested,"she propounded, "simply that it makes an end, bursts a bubble, rids us of an incubus and permits us to go to bed in peace? I thank God," she moralised, "for dear old Briss to-night.""So do I," I after a moment returned; "but I shall do so with still greater fervour if you'll have for the space of another question a still greater patience." With which, as a final movement from her seemed to say how much this was to ask, I had on my own side a certain exasperation of soreness for all I had to acknowledge--even were it mere acknowledgment--that she had brought rattling down."Remember," I pleaded, "that you're costing me a perfect palace of thought!"I could see too that, held unexpectedly by something in my tone, she really took it in.Couldn't I even almost see that, for an odd instant, she regretted the blighted pleasure of the pursuit of truth with me? Ineeded, at all events, no better proof either of the sweet or of the bitter in her comprehension than the accent with which she replied: "Oh, those who live in glass houses--""Shouldn't--no, I know they shouldn't--throw stones; and that's precisely why I don't." I had taken her immediately up, and I held her by it and by something better still."You, from your fortress of granite, can chuck them about as you will! All the more reason, however," I quickly added, "that, before my frail, but, as I maintain, quite sublime structure, you honour me, for a few seconds, with an intelligent look at it.I seem myself to see it again, perfect in every part," I pursued, "even while I thus speak to you, and to feel afresh that, weren't the wretched accident of its weak foundation, it wouldn't have the shadow of a flaw.I've spoken of it in my conceivable regret," I conceded, "as already a mere heap of disfigured fragments; but that was the extravagance of my vexation, my despair.It's in point of fact so beautifully fitted that it comes apart piece by piece--which, so far as that goes, you've seen it do in the last quarter of an hour at your own touch, quite handing me the pieces, one by one, yourself and watching me stack them along the ground.They're not even in this state--see!" I wound up--"a pile of ruins!" I wound up, as I say, but only for long enough to have, with the vibration, the exaltation, of my eloquence, my small triumph as against her great one."I should almost like, piece by piece, to hand them back to you." And this time I completed my figure."I believe that, for the very charm of it, you'd find yourself placing them by your own sense in their order and rearing once more the splendid pile.Will you take just ONE of them from me again," I insisted, "and let me see if only to have it in your hands doesn't positively start you off? That's what I meant just now by asking you for another answer."She had remained silent, as if really in the presence of the rising magnificence of my metaphor, and it was not too late for the one chance left me."There was nothing, you know, I had so fitted as your account of poor Mrs.Server when, on our seeing them, from the terrace, together below, you struck off your explanation that old Briss was HER screen for Long.""Fitted?"--and there was sincerity in her surprise."I thought my stupid idea the one for which you had exactly no use!""I had no use," I instantly concurred, "for your stupid idea, but Ihad great use for your stupidly, alas! having it.THAT fitted beautifully,"I smiled, "till the piece came out.And even now," I added, "I don't feel it quite accounted for.""Their being there together?"
"No.Your not liking it that they were."
She stared."Not liking it?"
I could see how little indeed she minded now, but I also kept the thread of my own intellectual history."Yes.Your not liking it is what I speak of as the piece.I hold it, you see, up before you.What, artistically, would you do with it?"But one might take a horse to water--! I held it up before her, but I couldn't make her look at it."How do you know what I mayn't, or may, have liked?"It did bring me to."Because you were conscious of not telling me? Well, even if you didn't--!""That made no difference," she inquired with a generous derision, "because you could always imagine? Of course you could always imagine--which is precisely what is the matter with you! But I'm surprised at your coming to me with it once more as evidence of anything."I stood rebuked, and even more so than I showed her, for she need, obviously, only decline to take one of my counters to deprive it of all value as coin.
When she pushed it across I had but to pocket it again."It IS the weakness of my case," I feebly and I daresay awkwardly mused at her, "that any particular thing you don't grant me becomes straightway the strength of yours.Of course, however "--and I gave myself a shake--"I'm absolutely rejoicing (am I not?) in the strength of yours.The weakness of my own is what, under your instruction, I'm now going into; but don't you see how much weaker it will show if I draw from you the full expression of your indifference?
