Ah, Symons knew women! His perfect knowledge she attested when I read that magnificent passage:
“They do not understand that in the world There grows between the sunlight and the grass Anything save themselves desirable. It seems to them that the swift eyes of men Are made but to be mirrors, not to see Far-off, disastrous, unattainable things. ‘For are not we,’ they say, ‘the end of all? Why should you look beyond us? If you look Into the night, you will find nothing there: We also have gazed often at the stars.’”
“It is true,” said Miss West, in the pause I permitted in order to see how she had received the thought. “We also have gazed often at the stars.”
It was the very thing I had predicted to her face that she would say.
“But wait,” I cried. “Let me read on.” And I read:
“‘We, we alone among all beautiful things, We only are real: for the rest are dreams. Why will you follow after wandering dreams When we await you? And you can but dream Of us, and in our image fashion them.’”
“True, most true,” she murmured, while all unconsciously pride and power mounted in her eyes.
“A wonderful poem,” she conceded—nay, proclaimed—when I had done.
“But do you not see . . .” I began impulsively, then abandoned the attempt. For how could she see, being woman, the “far-off, disastrous, unattainable things,” when she, as she so stoutly averred, had gazed often on the stars?
She? What could she see, save what all women see—that they only are real, and that all the rest are dreams.
“I am proud to be a daughter of Herodias,” said Miss West.
“Well,” I admitted lamely, “we agree. You remember it is what I told you you were.”
“I am grateful for the compliment,” she said; and in those long gray eyes of hers were limned and coloured all the satisfaction, and self-certitude and answering complacency of power that constitute so large a part of the seductive mystery and mastery that is possessed by woman.
Heavens!—how I read in this fine weather. I take so little exercise that my sleep need is very small; and there are so few interruptions, such as life teems with on the land, that I read myself almost stupid. Recommend me a sea-voyage any time for a man who is behind in his reading. I am making up years of it. It is an orgy, a debauch; and I am sure the addled sailors adjudge me the queerest creature on board.