 | IX. Marjorie Daw, and other people |  |
9. IX.
August 23, —.
I have just returned from the strangest interview
with Marjorie. She has all but confessed
to me her interest in you. But with
what modesty and dignity! Her words elude
my pen as I attempt to put them on paper; and,
indeed, it was not so much what she said as her
manner; and that I cannot reproduce. Perhaps
it was of a piece with the strangeness of this
whole business, that she should tacitly acknowledge
to a third party the love she feels for a man
she has never beheld! But I have lost, through
your aid, the faculty of being surprised. I accept
things as people do in dreams. Now that
I am again in my room, it all appears like an
illusion, — the black masses of Rembrandtish
shadow under the trees, the fire-flies whirling
in Pyrrhic dances among the shrubbery, the sea
over there, Marjorie sitting on the hammock!
It is past midnight, and I am too sleepy to
write more.
Thursday Morning.
My father has suddenly taken it into his head
to spend a few days at the Shoals. In the mean
while you will not hear from me. I see Marjorie
walking in the garden with the colonel. I wish
I could speak to her alone, but shall probably
not have an opportunity before we leave.
| IX. Marjorie Daw, and other people | |