``They did it to
save their immortal souls, didn't they? You needn't tell me
that a man who doesn't love oysters and asparagus and good
wines has got a soul, or a stomach either. He's simply got
the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.''
Clovis relapsed for a few golden moments into tender
intimacies with a succession of rapidly disappearing
oysters.
``I think oysters are more beautiful than any religion,''
he resumed presently. ``They not only forgive our
unkindness to them; they justify it, they incite us to go on
being perfectly horrid to them. Once they arrive at the
supper-table they seem to enter thoroughly into the spirit
of the thing. There's nothing in Christianity or Buddhism
that quite matches the sympathetic unselfishness of an
oyster. Do you like my new waistcoat? I'm wearing it for
the first time tonight.''
``It looks like a great many others you've had lately,
only worse. New dinner waistcoats are becoming a habit with
you.''
``They say one always pays for the excesses of one's
youth; mercifully that isn't true about one's clothes. My
mother is thinking of getting married.
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