might give me bandy legs she caught me up and pressed me to her
bosom. We have no affinities; indeed, beyond cleanliness and a
certain unreasoning honesty, she can be said to possess no attributes
at all. I am convinced that a serious affection for her could only
flourish on an intellectual atrophy; and yet for a while I abandoned
myself. We went out into the bright streets together, and it was
delicious to be propelled by her strong arms. We halted, on our way
to Kensington Gardens, to listen to a German band. The voluptuous
waltz-music affected me strangely, and I was sorry that, owing to my
position in the vehicle, her face was hidden from me. In the midst
of my ecstasy, a square object on wheels came round the street
corner. It was painted a bright vermilion and bore the initials of
K.V.--"Kytherea Victrix!" I cried in my heart; but as it passed, at a
slow pace, it rained a flood of tears upon the dusty road-way.
For some time after I sat in a strange calm, but with a sensation in
the region of the diaphragm as if I had received a severe blow; and
in truth I had. But the shock was salutary, and by the time that
nurse and I were seated together by the Round Pond, I was able to
listen to her talk without a quiver of the eyelids. Poor soul!
What malefic jest of Fate led her to select the story of
Georgie-Porgie?

Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie. . . .

It is as irrelevant as life itself.

Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry. . . .

Why pudding? Why pie? Why--if you ask this--why _any_ realism?