And what is reverence--?
The soul's acknowledgment of the purity of another--and purity in this
sense means truth and honor, and lofty aims--not the denial of all
passion, or the practice of asceticism.
I utterly reverence Alathea, and yet I am sure with that mouth--if she
loved me she would be anything but cold. How on God's earth can I make
her love me--?
I went back to Versailles after luncheon, having had to see the
specialist about my eye, he thinks the socket is so marvelously healed
lately, that I could have the glass one in now much sooner than
Christmas. I wonder if some self confidence will return when I can feel
people are not revolted when looking at me?--That again is
super-sensitiveness. Of course no one is revolted--they feel pity--and
that is perhaps worse. When I get my leg too, shall I have the nerve to
make love to Alathea and use all the arts which used to be so successful
in the old days?
I believe if I were back in 1914--I should still be as nervous as a cat
when with her--Is this one of the symptoms of love again?
George Harcourt has many maxims upon the subject of love--One is that a
Frenchman thinks most of the methods of love--An Englishman more of the
sensations of love--and an Austrian of the emotions of love--. I wonder
if this is true? He also says that a woman does not really appreciate a
man who reverences her sex in the abstract, and is chivalrous about all
women,--she rather thinks him a simpleton--. What she does appreciate is
a man who holds cynical views about the female sex in general, and shows
reverence and chivalry towards herself in particular!
This I feel is probably the truth--!
I did not expect to hear anything of Alathea on the Monday, she was not
due until Tuesday at eleven o'clock, but when I came in from my sunset
on the terrace, I found two telegrams, all the first one said was-"Extremely sorry will be unable to come to-morrow, brother
seriously ill.
A. Sharp--."
And no address!
So I could not send sympathy, or even offer any help--I could have sworn
aloud! The storm had wrecked its vengeance on someone, then, and the
poor little chap had probably taken cold.
If I could only be of some use to them--Perhaps getting the best Doctor
is out of their reach. I was full of turmoil while I tore open the other
blue paper--this was from Suzette--.
"I come this evening at eight."
It was nearly seven o'clock now, so I could not put her off--and I am
not sure that I wanted to--Suzette is a human being and kindly, and her
heart is warm.