"We live in very dangerous times," he said, "and it grieves me when a man of your standing panders to these notions.""Those," said Shelton, "whom the shoe does n't pinch make this rule of morality, and thrust it on to such as the shoe does pinch.""The rule was never made," said the parson; "it was given us.""Oh!" said Shelton, "I beg your pardon." He was in danger of forgetting the delicate position he was in. "He wants to ram his notions down my throat," he thought; and it seemed to him that the parson's face had grown more like a mule's, his accent more superior, his eyes more dictatorial: To be right in this argument seemed now of great importance, whereas, in truth, it was of no importance whatsoever. That which, however, was important was the fact that in nothing could they ever have agreed.
But Crocker had suddenly ceased to snore; his head had fallen so that a peculiar whistling arose instead. Both Shelton and the parson looked at him, and the sight sobered them.
"Your friend seems very tired," said the parson.
Shelton forgot all his annoyance, for his host seemed suddenly pathetic, with those baggy garments, hollow cheeks, and the slightly reddened nose that comes from not imbibing quite enough. A kind fellow, after all!
The kind fellow rose, and, putting his hands behind his back, placed himself before the blackening fire. Whole centuries of authority stood behind him. It was an accident that the mantelpiece was chipped and rusty, the fire-irons bent and worn, his linen frayed about the cuffs.
"I don't wish to dictate," said he, "but where it seems to me that you are wholly wrong in that your ideas foster in women those lax views of the family life that are so prevalent in Society nowadays."Thoughts of Antonia with her candid eyes, the touch of freckling on her pink-white skin, the fair hair gathered back, sprang up in Shelton, and that word--"lax" seemed ridiculous. And the women he was wont to see dragging about the streets of London with two or three small children, Women bent beneath the weight of babies that they could not leave, women going to work with babies still unborn, anaemic-looking women, impecunious mothers in his own class, with twelve or fourteen children, all the victims of the sanctity of marriage, and again the word "lax" seemed to be ridiculous.
"We are not put into the world to exercise our wits,"--muttered Shelton.
"Our wanton wills," the parson said severely.
"That, sir, may have been all right for the last generation, the country is more crowded now. I can't see why we should n't decide it for ourselves.""Such a view of morality," said the parson, looking down at Crocker with a ghostly smile, "to me is unintelligible."Cracker's whistling grew in tone and in variety.
"What I hate," said Shelton, "is the way we men decide what women are to bear, and then call them immoral, decadent, or what you will, if they don't fall in with our views.""Mr. Shelton," said the parson, "I think we may safely leave it in the hands of God."Shelton was silent.
"The questions of morality," said the parson promptly, "have always lain through God in the hands of men, not women. We are the reasonable sex."Shelton stubbornly replied "We 're certainly the greater humbugs, if that 's the same.""This is too bad," exclaimed the parson with some heat.
"I 'm sorry, sir; but how can you expect women nowadays to have the same views as our grandmothers? We men, by our commercial enterprise, have brought about a different state of things; yet, for the sake of our own comfort, we try to keep women where they were.
It's always those men who are most keen about their comfort" --and in his heat the sarcasm of using the word "comfort" in that room was lost on him--"who are so ready to accuse women of deserting the old morality."The parson quivered with impatient irony.
"Old morality! new morality!" he said. "These are strange words.""Forgive me," explained Shelton; "we 're talking of working morality, I imagine. There's not a man in a million fit to talk of true morality."The eyes of his host contracted.
"I think," he said--and his voice sounded as if he had pinched it in the endeavour to impress his listener--"that any well-educated man who honestly tries to serve his God has the right humbly--I say humbly--to claim morality."Shelton was on the point of saying something bitter, but checked himself. "Here am I," thought he, "trying to get the last word, like an old woman."At this moment there was heard a piteous mewing; the parson went towards the door.
"Excuse me a moment; I 'm afraid that's one of my cats out in the wet." He returned a minute later with a wet cat in his arms. "They will get out," he said to Shelton, with a smile on his thin face, suffused by stooping. And absently he stroked the dripping cat, while a drop of wet ran off his nose. "Poor pussy, poor pussy!" The sound of that "Poor pussy!" like nothing human in its cracked superiority, the softness of that smile, like the smile of gentleness itself, haunted Shelton till he fell asleep.
