What was the matter with her? I never
heard her speak so strongly before, except when she was alone with us.
And I don't think she ought to discuss such subjects with such people;
it is hardly delicate."
Claudia sighed wearily. "Who knows what pain is at the bottom of it
all?" she said. "But one thing always puzzles me. Ideala rails at evils
that never hurt her, and yet she speaks of marriage, which has been her
bane, as if it were a holy and perfect state, upon which it is a
privilege to enter."
"Plenty of people have condemned marriage simply because their own
experience of it has been unfortunate," I answered; "but Ideala is
above that. She will let no petty personal mishap prejudice her
judgment on the subject. She sees and feels the possibility of infinite
happiness in marriage when there is such love and such devotion on both
sides as she herself could have brought to it; and she understands that
her own unhappy experience need only be exceptional."
"I wish it were!" sighed Claudia.
Some years later, Ideala confessed to me that she had written "The
Passion of Delysle" herself, but had had no idea of its significance
until she heard it read aloud that night, and then, as she elegantly
expressed it, she could have cut her throat with shame and
mortification, which I consider a warning to young ladies not to trust
to their poetical inspirations, for--if the shade of Shelley will
pardon the conclusion--alas! _apparently_, they know not what they do
when they write verses!
"I can't think how you could have criticised it like that, Ideala," I
said, "now that I know you wrote it.
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