I
haven't a word to say against him, especially when he goes to the
kitchen; I only want to know if he is going to stop here a night or two
or a year or two. Talk to him about it tomorrow with my love. I wonder
if he can make bisque soup."
Daisy Quantock carried quite a quantity of material for reflection
upstairs with her, then she went to bed, pausing a moment opposite the
Guru's door, from inside of which came sounds of breathing so deep that
it sounded almost like snoring. But she seemed to detect a timbre of
spirituality about it which convinced her that he was holding high
communion with the Guides. It was round him that her thoughts centred,
he was the tree through the branches of which they scampered
chattering.
Her first and main interest in him was sheer Guruism, for she was one
of those intensely happy people who pass through life in ecstatic
pursuit of some idea which those who do not share it call a fad. Well
might poor Robert remember the devastation of his home when Daisy,
after the perusal of a little pamphlet which she picked up on a
book-stall called "The Uric Acid Monthly," came to the shattering
conclusion that her buxom frame consisted almost entirely of
waste-products which must be eliminated. For a greedy man the situation
was frankly intolerable, for when he continued his ordinary diet (this
was before the cursed advent of the Christian Science cook) she kept
pointing to his well-furnished plate, and told him that every atom of
that beef or mutton and potatoes, turned from the moment he swallowed it
into chromogens and toxins, and that his apparent appetite was merely the
result of fermentation.
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