m, not those that he imagined. She was a practical
woman, a domestic wife for an inferior poet, endowed with romantic
beauty by some freak of unintelligent Nature. No doubt her beauty itself
would not stand examination. He had the means of settling this point at
least. He possessed a book of photographs from the Greek statues; the
head of a goddess, if the lower part were concealed, had often given him
the ecstasy of being in Katharine's presence. He took it down from the
shelf and found the picture. To this he added a note from her, bidding
him meet her at the Zoo. He had a flower which he had picked at Kew to
teach her botany. Such were his relics. He placed them before him, and
set himself to visualize her so clearly that no deception or delusion
was possible. In a second he could see her, with the sun slanting across
her dress, coming towards him down the green walk at Kew. He made her
sit upon the seat beside him. He heard her voice, so low and yet so
decided in its tone; she spoke reasonably of indifferent matters. He
could see her faults, and analyze her virtues. His pulse became quieter,
and his brain increased in clarity. This time she could not escape him.
The illusion of her presence became more and more complete. They seemed
to pass in and out of each other's minds, questioning and answering. The
utmost fullness of communion seemed to be theirs. Thus united, he felt
himself raised to an eminence, exalted, and filled with a power of
achievement such as he had never known in singleness. Once more he told
over conscientiously her faults, both of face and character; they were
clearly known to him; but they merged themselves in the flawless union
that was born of their association. They surveyed life to its uttermost
limits. How deep it was when looked at from this height! How sublime!
How the commonest things moved him almost to tears! Thus, he forgot
the inevitable limitations; he forgot her absence, he thought it of no
account whether she married him or another; nothing mattered, save
that she should exist, and that he should love her. Some words of these
reflections were uttered aloud, and it happened that among them were
the words, "I love her." It was the first time that he had used the word
"love" to describe his feeling; madness, romance, hallucination--he had
called it by these names before; but having, apparently by accident,
stumbled upon the word "love," he repeated it again and again with a
sense of re