An Unknown Lover by Mrs George de Horne Vaizey (hardest books to read TXT) š
- Author: Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
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āIt is a big problem, and must be gripped. I have many invitations, enough to fill six months at least, but Iāve refused them all! I canāt frivol with that big question unsolved, so Iām going away quietly by myself to think it out. The friends here are keenly interested, and proffer advice, tinctured with consolation as follows: āHave you ever thought of dispensing? I knew a girl who had such a good post, and married the doctor. Of course you will marry, too, dear!āāāIām told thereās quite a big income to be made out of fashion designingā (Canāt draw a line!). āThen you could go on with it at home if you married a poor man. Of course youāll marry.ā ... āYou might be a matron at Eton...ā (Might I?) āHow would you like to be a Cookery Demonstrator?ā (Not at all!) āSo useful when you marry.āāāCharity Organisation Offices need Secretaries. Couldnāt you get your brother to get the Bishop to write to say youād be suitable?ā (Story-teller if he did! I shouldnāt. Too much sympathy, and too little judgment, Iād give them money on the sly!)
āāDear Katrine! promise me one thing,āthat you will not be tempted to go on the stage!ā (Vicarās wife having seen me act charades at a mild tea fray.) āWait patiently and trustfully, performing faithfully the little duties that arise, and in good time...ā (She means the curate!!)
āOh, dear, itās funny, but Iām not laughing. Iām trying not to cry. In the horrid, ungrateful way we have, I realise for the first time how well off Iāve been; how comfortable, and snug, and independent, andānecessary! Thatās the crux of it all. I was necessaryānow Iām superfluous!
āWell! here I am, you see, for the first time in twenty-six years really at grips with life, about to experience for myself the troubles and perplexities which so far have been mere matters of hearsay! I growsed and grizzled about the dulness of monotony, now Iām to taste uncertainty for a change. It may be very good for me; the vicarās wife saysāconfidently!āthat it will be. I can imagine myself pouring forth the most inspiriting sentiments to my next-door neighbour, similarly bound, but when You write to me, donāt be inspiriting! I pray you, donāt make the best of it! Say that itās an unjust world; that brothers have no right to get married, and chuck their sisters; that itās confoundedly hard lines, and that Iām a hardly used, unappreciated, despised, abandoned angel and martyr. That will buck me up, and give me courage to go on!
āBut I want you to know one thing! If I could alter everything by a wave of the hand, nothing would induce me to do it! To see the cloud lifted, to watch blank eyes grow deep, and sweet, and satisfied again,āthatās a wonderful thing, and it would be a pigmy soul who did not rejoice. So think of me as I am, really happy, and truthfully thankful, but naturally a little agitated as to personal plans. Hereās an excitement for you! Guess what Iāll be, when you hear from me next!
āSuperfluously,
āKatrine.ā
Cable message from Dorothea Middleton to Katrine Beverley:
āOctober 10, 19ā.
āCome immediately yearās visit. Cable dates.ā
Reply cable from Katrine Beverley to Dorothea Middleton:
āOctober 11, 19ā.
āRegret quite impossible. Thanks.ā
āLebong, October 23, 19ā.
āDear Katrine,
āSo you have refused Dorotheaās invitation to come out to her for the next year. She, poor girl, is surprised and hurt; I, on the contrary, am neither one nor tāother. I knew it; felt it in my bones; could have drafted beforehand your replyāand whatās more, dear, I know precisely by what train of argument the refusal came about!āIāJim Blairāam the bogie! You are saying to yourself: āA year ago I should have gone. It would have seemed the obvious thing to go to Dorothea. Her companionship, and the novelty of the surroundings would have been my best medicine and cure, but now itās impossible! Thereās that man! ... Behind the friendly import of his letters, thereās something else, the which I have strenuously ignored, but I have recognised it all the same. If I went out now, leaving Martin married and content, he would think,āthat man would think,āimagine,āperhaps even (heās audacious enough!)āExpect! ... My presence would give ground to these expectations. Therefore, Q.E.D., as a modest, self-respecting damsel I cannot go! I must stay at home. I shall be dull; I shall be lonely; I shall be disappointed,ā (You would be disappointed, Katrine!) āBut my self-respect will be preserved. No man shall ever have it in his power to say that I have travelled to the end of the world āon appro,āāthat I have deliberately thrown myself in his way. Sooner a hundred times death or life-solitude! The question is settled. Let it rest. Selah!ā
āAre you angry, dear? Are your cheeks red? Is there a light burning in those deep eyes? Iāll bet there is, and donāt I wish I could see it! Donāt be hurt with me for divining the workings of your mind. Iāll make a clean breast of my own in return...
āI do think! I do imagine! I do expect! Itās not a new phase, it began a couple of years ago, when I fell in love with the portrait of a girlās face, and the portrait of the girl herself, as portrayed in her weekly letters. And I diagnosed the position from those letters, and thinks I:āāThat Martin fellow will soon break loose, heās coming to life with a rush;āthat little girlās billet is about run out. She will be needing another, one of these days. I could give her another!ā And I set myself to pave the way.
āSo there it is, Katrine; you have it at lastāthe full and free confession of a man, who, bereft of force, resorted to guile wherewith to win a wife...
āIāve been sitting for a quarter of an hour staring at that last word, and thinking!
āIt seems an extraordinary term to use in connection with a woman one has never seen, but I know you, we know each other, better than half the couples who go to the altar. Itās no good reminding me that this is only the fourth time I have written to you. I know that perfectly well, but will you kindly recollect that I have been sharing in letters written by you for the last six years, besides which, of course, I have had the advantage of hearing constant descriptions from Dorotheaās lips. Itās more difficult for you; donāt think I minimise that! If I seem wanting in consideration it is only seeming; I realise only too well how hard it must be for you, poor, proud little girl. But you must come, you know! Thereās no way out of that. Be sensible, Katrine. Donāt get angry! Sit down and let me talk to you quietly, and show you how the question appears to me...
āI have never wanted to marry a woman before, though Iāve met scores of nice girls. I never felt for one of them the sympathy, the affinity I know for you. You are not in love with me; I donāt expect it for the moment, but you are interested; so far as youāve gone, you like and approve. Youāve shown that in your letters, and are honest enough to admit it now. Then why not give me a chance? Is there anything derogatory to a sane womanās dignity in meeting, at his own request, and on perfectly free, unconditional terms, a man who loves her, and wishes to make her his wife? You know there is not.āI ask for no promises; nothing but the chance to meet you on an ordinary friendly footing. If it eases the way, I promise to say no word of love for, shall we say three months? Iād prefer weeksābut itās your verdict.
āI want you, Katrine! I need you! I want a tangible, flesh and blood love, instead of its shadowy substitute. I want to take you in my arms, and hold you close till the red burns in your cheeks. I want to look down into those deep eyes, and to see them look back into mine. I want to stroke that curly hair, and to kiss those lips. Most of all I want your lips. I hunger to love, and I hunger to be loved. The thought of your coming would be like life; your refusal, blackness like death.
āIs there a soul at home in England who can say as much? And if not, are you justified, Katrine, in sacrificing me to your pride? You wonāt do it. You canāt do it! Come to me, Katrine!
āJ.C.D. Blair.ā
āCumly, November 20, 19ā.
āDear Captain Blair,
āI have received your letter. What can I say? Honestly, I have tried to weigh your arguments,ānot calmly,āthat is impossible, but unselfishly, thoughtfully, from every point of view, and indeed, and indeed, I canāt alter my decision!
āI hate the thought of giving you pain; I hate it so much that I will confess that it gives me pain also. I want to give in, and say yes; I want to leave behind the pain and the jar of the last few years, and sail out into the sun,āto see Dorothea, and yes! to see you too; to continue our friendship face to face. I could waive the shyness, waive the pride; what I cannot do is to waive the risk! You are a man; you see, man-like, only the plain, obvious facts; you donāt realise, as a woman does, the hundred and one difficulties and risks. You say that you love me, and you do love the imaginary Katrine whom you have created out of paper and ink. What you donāt realise is how tiny a difference between the real and the imaginary might turn that love to disillusion. Iām honest in my letters; I donāt pretend; Dorothea has no doubt told you my faults as well as my virtues; my photographs are not flattered; because I am young, and healthy, and alert, I am better-looking in real life, yet if I walked into your room at this moment looking my utmost best, you might still feel a shock of disappointment! You might acknowledge that this woman was handsomer, finer, in every way more personable than you had imagined, but that would not soothe the disappointment. She had made unto yourself a dream, and she was not your dream!
āSuch a little thing can do it,āa little inconsequent thing, a tiny personal peculiarity, a trick of manner, an expression, a look. Itās not a question of whether it is beautiful and admirable in itself; it is a question of attraction, the indefinable, all-important attraction about which there can be no reasoning, no appeal.
āWe discussed it beforeādo you remember? I told you there was every conceivable reason why I should have loved one man who wanted me, but there it was,āimpossible! and nothing could alter it.
āIf we had met in the ordinary way, as strangers, we should have been able to test the presence or absence of this attraction in a simple, natural fashion,ānow, the realisation of its failure on either side must bring with it misery and embarrassment.
āHonestly, I canāt answer for myself. I do like you! There have been timesāmy loneliest timesāwhen I have almost loved Jim Blair,āthe Jim Blair of my dreams, but how am I to know that he is anything like you? The face which looks at me from beneath the white topee in the various groups which Dorothea has sent is vague enough to lend itself to mental adaptation, the real one may be a very different thing!
āIf I could see you for even five minutes, face to face, I could tell if it were possible; but as things are, I canāt, and I dare not cross the world on the chance. I must find a niche at home, and
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