up your metaphors in the least. Crib, stocks, ocean, ship--all correct,
and very nautical. As for your reasoning, I do not believe there is
anything in it. I do not believe that pleasure leads to happiness; I do
not believe that a woman has a soul, and I deny the whole argument from
beginning to end. There," he added with a smile that belied the
brusqueness of his words, "that is my position. Talk me out of it if you
can; the night is long, and my patience as that of the ass."

"I do not think this is a case for rigid application of logic. When the
feelings are concerned--and where can they be more concerned than in our
intercourse with women?--the only way to arrive at any conclusion is by
a sort of trying-on process, imagining ourselves in the position
indicated, and striving to fancy how it would suit us. Let us begin in
that way. Suppose yourself unmarried, your three wives and their
children removed--"

"Allah in his mercy grant it!" ejaculated Isaacs with great fervour.

"--removed from the question altogether. Then imagine yourself thrown
into daily conversation with some beautiful woman who has read what you
have read, thought what you have thought, and dreamed the dreams of a
nobler destiny that have visited you in waking and sleeping hours. A
woman who, as she learned your strange story, should weep for the pains
you suffered and rejoice for the difficulties overcome, who should
understand your half spoken thoughts and proudly sympathise in your
unuttered aspirations; in whom you might see the twin nature to your
own, and detect the strong spirit and the brave soul, half revealed
through the feminine gentleness and modesty that clothe her as with a
garment. Imagine all this, and then suppose it lay in your power, was a
question of choice, for you to take her hand in yours and go through