be
as much to each other as we are now. If he died, I would live only to
remember the days I passed with him. What folly, what a crime, it would
have been to waste two years, as though we were immortal!

"I never think of Capri but I see it in the light of a magnificent
sunrise. Beloved, sacred island, where the morning of my life indeed
began! No spot in all the earth has beauty like yours; no name of any
place sounds to me as yours does!"

"I know that our life cannot always be what it is now. This is a long
honeymoon; we do not walk on the paths that are trodden by ordinary
mortals; the sky above us is not the same that others see as they go
about their day's business or pleasure. By what process shall we fall
to the common existence? We have all our wants provided for; there is
no need for my husband to work that he may earn money, no need for me
to take anxious thought about expenses; so that we are tempted to
believe that life will always be the same. That cannot be; I am not so
idle as to hope it.

"He certainly has powers which should be put to use. We have talked
much of things that he might possibly do, and I am sure that before
long his mind will hit the right path. I am so greedy of happiness that
even what we enjoy does not suffice me; I want my husband to
distinguish himself among men, that I may glory in his honour.
Yesterday he told me that my own abilities exceeded his, and that I was
more likely to make use of them; but in this case my ambition takes a
humble form. Even if I were sure that I could, say, write a good book,
I would infinitely prefer him to do it and receive the reward of it. I
like him to _say_ such things, but in fact he must be more than I. Do I
need a justification of the love I bear him? Surely not; that would be
a contradiction of love. But it is true that I would gladly have him
justify to others my belief in his superiority.

"And yet--why not be content with what is well? If _he_ could remain
so; but will he? We have a long life before us, and I know that it
cannot be all honeymoon."

"I have been reading a French novel that has made me angry--in spite of
my better sense. Of course, it is not the first book of the kind that I
have read, but it comes home to me now. What right has this author to
say that no man was ever absolutely faithful? It is a commonplace, but
how can any one have evidence enough to justify such a statement? I
shall not speak of it to Reuben, for I