look at acrobats with great pleasure.”
He laughed quietly.
“Nevertheless you held my particular predilection in great aversion?”
“Why should you think that?”
“I felt it.”
“You feel everything,” she said, almost in alarm. “You are a dangerous person.”
“So many think that. Shall I tell you why you took a special aversion in my case?”
“Yes.”
“Because you did not understand it in me; even though you may perhaps have observed that physical exercise is one of my strong passions.”
“I do not understand you at all.”
“I think you are right … But do not let me talk so much of myself; I prefer to talk of you.”
“And I of you. So be gallant to me for the first time in our acquaintance, and speak … of yourself.”
He bowed, with a smile.
“You will not think me tiresome?”
“Not at all. You were telling me of yourself. You were speaking of your love of exercise …”
“Ah! Yes … Can you understand that there are in me two distinct individuals?”
“Two distinct …”
“Yes. My soul, my real self; and then … there remains the other.”
“And what is that other?”
“Something ugly, something common, something grossly primitive. In one word, the brute.”
She shrugged her shoulders lightly.
“How dark you paint yourself. The same thing is more or less true of everybody.”
“Yes, but it troubles me more than I can tell you. I suffer; the lower hurts my soul, the higher, more than the whole world hurts it. Now do you know why I feel such a sense of security when I am with you? It is because I do not feel the brute that is in me … Let mego on a little longer, let me shrive myself; it does me good to tell you this. You thought I had only seen you four times? But I saw you often formerly, in the theatre, in the street, everywhere. There was always something strange for me when I saw you in the midst of accidental surroundings. And always, when I looked at you, I felt as if I were lifted to something more beautiful. I cannot express myself more clearly. There is something in your face, in your eyes, in your movements, I do not know what, but something better than in other people, something that addressed itself, most eloquendy, to my soul only. All this is so subtle and so strange … But you are no doubt thinking again that I am going too far, are you not? Or that I am raving?”
“Certainly, I never should have thought you such an idealist, such a
sensitivist
,” said Cecile softly.
“Have I leave to speak to you like this?”
“Why not?” she asked, to escape the necessity of replying directly.
“You might possibly fear lest I should compromise you …”
“I do not fear that for an instant!” she replied, haughtily, as in utter contempt of the world.
They were silent for a moment. That delicate, fragile thing, that might so easily break, still hung between them, thin, like a gossamer between them, lightly joining them together. An atmosphere of embarrassment hovered about them. They felt that the words whichhad passed between them were full of significance. Cecile waited for him to continue; but as he was silent she boldly took up the conversation:
“On the contrary, I value it highly that you have spoken to me like this. You were right; you have indeed given me much of yourself. I wish to assure you of my sympathy. I believe I understand you better now that I see you better.”
“I want very much to ask you something,” he said, “but I dare not.”
She smiled to encourage him.
“No, really I dare not,” he repeated.
“Shall I guess?” Cecile asked, jestingly.
“Yes; what do you think it is?”
She glanced round the room until her eye rested on the little table covered with books.
“The loan of Emerson’s
Essays
?” she hazarded.
But Quaerts shook his head and laughed.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I have bought the volume long ago. No, no; it is a much greater favour than the loan of a book.”
“Be bold then, and
He laughed quietly.
“Nevertheless you held my particular predilection in great aversion?”
“Why should you think that?”
“I felt it.”
“You feel everything,” she said, almost in alarm. “You are a dangerous person.”
“So many think that. Shall I tell you why you took a special aversion in my case?”
“Yes.”
“Because you did not understand it in me; even though you may perhaps have observed that physical exercise is one of my strong passions.”
“I do not understand you at all.”
“I think you are right … But do not let me talk so much of myself; I prefer to talk of you.”
“And I of you. So be gallant to me for the first time in our acquaintance, and speak … of yourself.”
He bowed, with a smile.
“You will not think me tiresome?”
“Not at all. You were telling me of yourself. You were speaking of your love of exercise …”
“Ah! Yes … Can you understand that there are in me two distinct individuals?”
“Two distinct …”
“Yes. My soul, my real self; and then … there remains the other.”
“And what is that other?”
“Something ugly, something common, something grossly primitive. In one word, the brute.”
She shrugged her shoulders lightly.
“How dark you paint yourself. The same thing is more or less true of everybody.”
“Yes, but it troubles me more than I can tell you. I suffer; the lower hurts my soul, the higher, more than the whole world hurts it. Now do you know why I feel such a sense of security when I am with you? It is because I do not feel the brute that is in me … Let mego on a little longer, let me shrive myself; it does me good to tell you this. You thought I had only seen you four times? But I saw you often formerly, in the theatre, in the street, everywhere. There was always something strange for me when I saw you in the midst of accidental surroundings. And always, when I looked at you, I felt as if I were lifted to something more beautiful. I cannot express myself more clearly. There is something in your face, in your eyes, in your movements, I do not know what, but something better than in other people, something that addressed itself, most eloquendy, to my soul only. All this is so subtle and so strange … But you are no doubt thinking again that I am going too far, are you not? Or that I am raving?”
“Certainly, I never should have thought you such an idealist, such a
sensitivist
,” said Cecile softly.
“Have I leave to speak to you like this?”
“Why not?” she asked, to escape the necessity of replying directly.
“You might possibly fear lest I should compromise you …”
“I do not fear that for an instant!” she replied, haughtily, as in utter contempt of the world.
They were silent for a moment. That delicate, fragile thing, that might so easily break, still hung between them, thin, like a gossamer between them, lightly joining them together. An atmosphere of embarrassment hovered about them. They felt that the words whichhad passed between them were full of significance. Cecile waited for him to continue; but as he was silent she boldly took up the conversation:
“On the contrary, I value it highly that you have spoken to me like this. You were right; you have indeed given me much of yourself. I wish to assure you of my sympathy. I believe I understand you better now that I see you better.”
“I want very much to ask you something,” he said, “but I dare not.”
She smiled to encourage him.
“No, really I dare not,” he repeated.
“Shall I guess?” Cecile asked, jestingly.
“Yes; what do you think it is?”
She glanced round the room until her eye rested on the little table covered with books.
“The loan of Emerson’s
Essays
?” she hazarded.
But Quaerts shook his head and laughed.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I have bought the volume long ago. No, no; it is a much greater favour than the loan of a book.”
“Be bold then, and
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