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Updated: May 25, 2025
Parkson was one of those exponents of virtue for whom the discussion of sexual matters has an irresistible attraction. The meeting had left him eloquent. He had argued with Dunkerley to the verge of indelicacy, and now he poured out a vast and increasingly confidential flow of talk upon Lewisham. Lewisham was distraught. He walked as fast as he could. His sole object was to get rid of Parkson.
"You don't mean to say Miss Heydinger ?" asked Parkson. "Oh, damn Miss Heydinger!" said Lewisham, and suddenly, abruptly, uncivilly, he turned away from Parkson at the end of the street and began walking away southward, leaving Parkson in mid-sentence at the crossing. Parkson stared in astonishment at his receding back and ran after him to ask for the grounds of this sudden offence.
Parkson fixed himself upon Lewisham and Dunkerley, to Lewisham's intense annoyance for he had a few intimate things he could have said to the man of Ideas that night. Dunkerley lived north, so that the three went up Exhibition Road to High Street, Kensington. There they parted from Dunkerley, and Lewisham and Parkson turned southward again for Lewisham's new lodging in Chelsea.
"We are excellent friends," admitted Lewisham. "But here we are at your diggings." Parkson stared at his "diggings." "There's Heaps I want to talk about. I'll come part of the way at any rate to Battersea. Your Miss Heydinger, I was saying ..."
He was unctuous when he was not pretty-pretty, and his views were evidently unpopular. Parkson was a man from Lancashire, and a devout Quaker; his third and completing factor was Ruskin, with whose work and phraseology he was saturated.
"Oh yes," said Lewisham. "Yes. I see the eyes." "They are ... innocent. They are the eyes of a little child." "Yes. They look that sort of eye. Very nice, old man. I congratulate you. Where does she live?" "You never saw a face like that in London," said Parkson. "Never," said Lewisham decisively. "I would not show that to every one," said Parkson.
He listened to Bletherley with a marked disapproval, and opened a vigorous defence of that ancient tradition of loyalty that Bletherley had called the monopolist institution of marriage. "The pure and simple old theory love and faithfulness," said Parkson, "suffices for me. If we are to smear our political movements with this sort of stuff ..."
"Like a shot. Why not?" "But how are you to live?" "That comes after. If ..." "I can't agree with you, Mr. Dunkerley," said Parkson. "I don't know if you have read Sesame and Lilies, but there you have, set forth far more fairly than any words of mine could do, an ideal of a woman's place ..." "All rot Sesame and Lilies," interrupted Dunkerley. "Read bits. Couldn't stand it.
At last Smithers went away foiled, and met Parkson by the entrance. Parkson, by-the-bye, had not spoken to Lewisham since their painful misunderstanding. He made a wide detour to his seat at the end table, and so, and by a singular rectitude of bearing and a dignified expression, showed himself aware of Lewisham's offensive presence. Lewisham's investigations were two-fold.
He perceived he was being given to understand that this was a Paragon of Purity, and that she was the particular property of Parkson. Parkson was regarding him proudly, and apparently awaiting his verdict. Lewisham struggled with the truth. "It's an interesting face," he said. "It is a face essentially beautiful," said Parkson quietly but firmly. "Do you notice the eyes, Lewisham?"
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