ged for forgiveness.

"You may be right, I don't know. Women are so confoundedly calm and
reasoning; but it's hard, Vanna! If you knew how I long for you--what a
lost, aimless wretch I feel hanging about, knowing that you are alone--a
few streets off! It was easier when you were shut up in hospital and I
couldn't get to you; but now! Sometimes it drives me half mad. You
can't blame me for flaring out. It's because I love you, darling--love
you so wildly. You wouldn't have me love you less?"

"No! a thousand times no." Yet no persuasion could move Vanna from her
point. On that one evening a week she was all that the most ardent
lover could desire; with every power she possessed she strove to secure
the perfection of that hour. Piers's favourite dishes appeared at
dinner; his favourite flowers decked the rooms; she rested during the
day, so as to be at her best and brightest in the evening, dressed
herself in his favourite colours, lavished love upon him in generous,
unstinted flow. Every evening he left her aglow with love, chafing at
the thought of the time which must elapse before their next meeting,
breathing out threats of rebellion. Now and again he did indeed break
through the rule, making an excuse of an opportunity to take Vanna to
some special entertainment; but these occasions had the excitement of
stolen pleasures, and were not allowed to become common.

Sometimes when Piers was visited by one of his black fits of depression;
when she realised that these fits grew more frequent with each year as
it passed, Vanna knew a terrible sinking of the heart. But she strove
valiantly to disguise it even from herself, for she realised that for
her wisdom lay in living in the present and resolutely shutting her eyes
to the future. Piers also she strove to inoculate with this doctrine,
forcing him to see outside reasons for his depression.

"Our love is more perfect, we mean more to each other than nine out of
ten married couples. If we have not their joys, we are spared their
griefs. Dearest, is any human being really content? Is he _meant_ to
be content? The animals are peaceful and satisfied to browse, and eat,
and lie down and sleep; they are in their rightful environment, but we
as spiritual beings are wandering adrift. The divine spark within is
eternally urging us on, further, higher--casting aside the baubles. It
is not a fault; it's a birthright. We can be patient, but never, never
content.