"----she was more than usual calm, She did not give a single damn."
_"No high-piled monuments are theirs who chose Her great inglorious toil--no flaming death. To them was sweet the poetry of prose, And wisdom gave a fragrance to their breath."_
With a thrill in his voice: "A friend of mine!" Eric said, "A friend of the human race."
Life seemed a splendid thing as he talked; but still, a splendour only to dazzle me--not to light and lead.
When he was there, all I asked was to sit and listen, and now and then to steal a look.
When he had gone, all I wanted was to be left alone, that I might go over all he had said, all he had looked, and endlessly embroider upon that background.
My best times, in his absence, were those safest from interruption--the long, blessed hours while other people slept.
To lie in bed conjuring up pictures of Eric, conversations with Eric, had come to be my idea not only of happiness but of luxury. And, as seems the way of all indulgence taken in secret and without restraint, this of mine enervated me, made me less fit for the society of my fellow-beings. I found myself irked by the things that before had pleased me, impatient even of people I loved. I was like the secret drinker, ready to sacrifice anything to gratify my hidden craving.
All this time Bettina was less in my thoughts than she had been since she was born--till that afternoon when I began to think furiously about her again.
Lord Helmstone had come with Eddie Monmouth and carried Eric off. I thought they had all three gone to the links.
I went indoors and wrote a note for my mother. Then I escaped to the garden. I will go down in the orchard, I said to myself, and wait by the gap for a glimpse of Eric playing the short round. Along the south wall I went towards the landmark of the big apple-tree, a yard or so this side of the gap. As I passed the ripening wall-fruit, netted to protect it from the birds, I remembered my mother had said the formal espaliers wore the air of a jealously-guarded beauty smiling behind her veil. The old tree by the gap was like some peasant "Mother of Many," she said, rude and generous, bearing on her gnarled arms a bushel to one of the more delicate fruits on the wall.