This love that all
his books were about--what was it? Was it a compromise between
affection and passion countenanced by God for the continuance of the
race, made beautiful by Him where the ingredients are in right
proportion, a flower springing from a soil that is not all divine? Oh,
so exquisite a flower! he cried, for he knew his Grizel. But he could
not love her. He gave her all his affection, but his passion, like an
outlaw, had ever to hunt alone.
Was it that? And if it was, did there remain in him enough of humanity
to give him the right to ask a little sympathy of those who can love?
So Tommy in his despairing moods, and the question ought to find some
place in his epitaph, which, by the way, it is almost time to write.
On the day following his meeting with Lady Pippinworth came a note
from Lady Rintoul inviting Grizel and him to lunch. They had been to
Rintoul once or twice before, but this time Tommy said decisively, "We
sha'n't go." He guessed who had prompted the invitation, though her
name was not mentioned in it.
"Why not?" Grizel asked. She was always afraid that she kept Tommy too
much to herself.
"Because I object to being disturbed during the honeymoon," he replied
lightly.
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