te beautiful
beginning.

'It was there, in my heart, when I woke one morning, exquisite and
strange, the assurance of a gift. How had it come there, while I slept?
I assure you when I closed my eyes it did not exist for me... Yes, of
course, I had seen him, but only somewhere at dinner... As the day went
on it changed--it turned into a clear pool, into a flower. And I--think
of my not understanding! I was pleased with it! For a long time, for
days, I never dreamed that it could be anything but a little secret joy.
Then, suddenly--oh, I had not been perceiving enough!--it was in all my
veins, a tide, an efflorescence, a thing of my very life.

'Then--it was a little late--I understood, and since--

'I began by hating it--being furious, furious--and afraid, too.
Sometimes it was like a low cloud, hovering and travelling always with
me, sometimes like a beast of prey that went a little way off and sat
looking at me....

'I have--done my best. But there is nothing to do, to kill, to abolish.
How can I say, "I will not let you in," when it is already there? How
can I assume indifference when this thing is imposed upon every moment
of my day? And it has grown so sweet--the longing--that--isn't it
strange?--I could more willingly give him up than the desire of him.
That seems as impossible to part with as life itself.'

She sat reflective for a moment, and I saw her eyes slowly fill.

Don't--don't CRY, Judy,' I faltered, wanting to horribly, myself.

She smiled them dry.

'Not now. But I am giving myself, I suppose, to many tears.'

'God help you,' I said. What else was there to say?

'There is no such person,' she replied, gaily. 'There is only a blessed
devil.'

'Then you go all the way--to the logical conclusion?'

She hardly hesitated. 'To the logical conclusion. What poor words!'

'May I ask--when?'

'I should like to tell you that quite definitely, and I think I can. The
English mail leaves tonight.'

'And you have arranged to take it?'

'We have arranged nothing. Do you know'--she smiled as if at the fresh
colours of an idyll--'we have not even come to the admission? There has
been between us no word, no vision. Ah, we have gone in bonds, and dumb!
Hours we have had, exquisite hours of the spirit, but never a moment of
the heart, a moment confessed. It was mine to give--that moment, and he
has waited--I know--wondering whether perhaps it would ever come. And
today--we are going for a ride today, and