'The supreme moment is come,' said Paul solemnly, as they sat down to
dinner. 'Let us prepare ourselves for realising to the full the
essential dignity of Humanity--that _grand être_, which has come, in the
course of progress, to consist of you and me. Virginia, consider this.
Every condition of happiness that modern thinkers have dreamed of is now
fulfilled. We have but to seek each the happiness of the other, and we
shall both be in a solemn, a significant, and unspeakable state of
rapture. See, here is an exquisite leg of mutton. I,' said Paul, who
liked the fat best, 'I will give up all the fat to you.'
'And I,' said Virginia, resignedly, 'will give up all the lean to you,'
A few mouthfuls made Virginia feel sick. 'I confess,' said she, 'I can't
get on with this fat.'
'I confess,' the Professor answered, 'I don't exactly like this lean.'
'Then let us,' said Virginia, 'be like Jack Sprat and his wife.'
'No,' said the Professor, meditatively, 'that is quite inadmissible. For
in that case we should be egoistic hedonists. However, for to-day it
shall be as you say. I will think of something better to-morrow.'
Next day he and Virginia had a chicken apiece; only Virginia's was put
before Paul, and Paul's before Virginia; and they each walked round the
table to supply each other with the slightest necessaries.
'Ah!' cried Paul, 'this is altruism indeed. I think already I can feel
the sublimity beginning.'
Virginia liked this rather better. But soon she committed the sin of
taking for herself the liver of Paul's chicken. As soon as she had eaten
the whole of it her conscience began to smite her. She confessed her
sin to Paul, and inquired, with some anxiety, if he thought she would go
to hell for it? 'Metaphorically,' said Paul, 'you have already done so.
You are punished by the loss of the pleasure you would have had in
giving that liver to me, and also by your knowledge of my knowledge of
your folly in foregoing the pleasure.'
Virginia was much relieved by this answer; she at once took several more
of the Professor's choicest bits, and was happy in the thought that her
sins were expiated in the very act of their commission, by the latent
pain she felt persuaded they were attended by. Feeling that this was
sufficient, she took care not to add Paul's disapproval to her
punishment, so she never told him again.
For a short time this practice of altruism seemed to Virginia to have
many advantages. But though the Professor was always exclaiming, 'How
significant is human life by the very nature of its constitution!' she
very soon found it a trifle dull. Luckily, however, she hit upon a new
method of exercising morality, and, as the Professor fully admitted, of
giving it a yet more solemn significance.
The Professor having by some accident lost his razors, his moustaches
had begun to grow profusely, and Virginia had watched them with a deep
but half-conscious admiration. At last, in a happy moment, she
exclaimed, 'Oh, Paul, do let me wax the ends for you,' Paul at first
giggled, blushed, and protested, but, as Virginia assured him it would
make her happy, he consented. 'Then,' she said, 'you will know that I am
happy, and that in return will make you happy also. Ah!' she exclaimed
when the operation was over, 'do go and examine yourself in the glass. I
declare you look exactly like Jack Barley--Barley-Sugar, as we used to
call him--of the Blues.'
Virginia smiled; suddenly she blushed; the Professor blushed also. To
cover the blushes she begged to be allowed to do his hair. 'It will make
me so much happier, Paul,' she said. The Professor again assented, that
he might make Virginia happy, and that she might be happy in knowing
that he was happy in promoting her happiness. At last the Professor, shy
and awkward as he was, was emboldened to offer to do Virginia's hair in
return. She allowed him to arrange her fringe, and, as she found he did
no great harm to it, she let him repeat the operation as often as he
liked.
A week thus passed, full, as the Professor said, of infinite solemnity.
'I admit, Paul,' sighed Virginia, 'that this altruism, as you call it,
is very touching. I like it very much. But,' she added, sinking her
voice to a whisper, 'are you quite sure, Paul, that it is perfectly
moral?'
'Moral!' echoed the Professor, 'moral! Why, exact thought shows us that
it is the very essence of all morality!'