The Professor, like most serious thinkers, knew but little of that
trifle commonly called 'the world.' He had never kissed any one except
his wife; even that he did as seldom as possible; and the curate lying
dead drunk was the first glimpse he had of what, _par excellence_, is
described as 'life.' But though the scene just recounted was thus a
terrible shock to him, in one way it gave him an unlooked-for comfort.
He had felt that even yet things were not quite as sublime as they
should be. He now saw the reason. 'Of course,' he said, 'existence
cannot be perfect so long as one third of Humanity makes a beast of
itself. A little more progress must be still necessary.'
He hastened to explain this next morning to Virginia, and begged her not
to be alarmed at the curate's scandalous conduct. 'Immorality,' he said,
'is but a want of success in attaining our own happiness. It is
evidently most immoral for the curate to be kissing you; and therefore
kissing you would not really conduce to his happiness. I will convince
him of this solemn truth in a very few moments. Then the essential
dignity of human nature will become at once apparent, and we shall all
of us at last begin to be unspeakably happy.'
The curate, however, altogether declined to be convinced. He maintained
stoutly that to kiss Virginia would be the greatest pleasure that
Humanity could offer him. 'And if it is immoral as well as pleasant,' he
added, 'I should like it all the better.'
At this the Professor gave a terrible groan; he dropped almost fainting
into a chair; he hid his face in his hands; and murmured
half-articulately, 'Then I can't tell what to do!' In another instant,
however, he recovered himself; and fixing a dreadful look on the
curate, 'That last statement of yours,' he said, 'cannot be true; for if
it were, it would upset all my theories. It is a fact that can be proved
and verified, that if you kissed Virginia it would make you miserable.'
'Pardon me,' said the curate, rapidly moving towards her, 'your notion
is a remnant of superstition; I will explode it by a practical
experiment.'
The Professor caught hold of the curate's coat-tails, and forcibly
pulled him back into his seat.
'If you dare attempt it,' he said, 'I will kick you soundly, and,
shocking, immoral man! you will feel miserable enough then.'
The curate was a terrible coward, and very weak as well. 'You are a
great hulking fellow,' he said, eyeing the Professor; 'and I am of a
singularly delicate build. I must, therefore, conform to the laws of
matter, and give in.' He said this in a very sulky voice; and, going out
of the room, slammed the door after him.
A radiant expression suffused the face of the Professor. 'See,' he said
to Virginia, 'the curate's conversion is already half accomplished. In a
few hours more he will be rational, he will be moral, he will be
solemnly and significantly happy.'
The Professor talked like this to Virginia the whole morning; but in
spite of all his arguments, she declined to be comforted. 'It is all
very well,' she said, 'whilst you are in the way. But as soon as your
back is turned, I know he will be at me again.'
'Will you never,' said Paul, by this time a little irritated, 'will you
never listen to exact thought? The curate is now reflecting; and a
little reflection must inevitably convince him that he does not really
care to kiss you, and that it would give him very little real pleasure
to do so.'
'Stuff!' exclaimed Virginia, with a sudden vigour at which the Professor
was thunderstruck. 'I can tell you,' she went on, 'that better men than
he have borne kicks for my sake; and to kiss me is the only thing that
that little man cares about.--What _shall_ I do?' she exclaimed,
bursting into tears. 'Here is one of you insulting me by trying to kiss
me; and the other insulting me by saying that I am not worth being
kissed!'
'Ah, me!' groaned the poor Professor in an agony, 'here is one third of
Humanity plunged in sorrow; and another third has not yet freed itself
from vice. When, when, I wonder, will the sublimity begin?'