Germain ought to be welcome to me now? I have been looking forward to
this life through a long year of travel. What more can I wish for?
Nothing more, of course.
And yet--and yet--Stella has innocently made it harder than ever to play
the part of her "brother." The recovery of her beauty is a subject for
congratulation to her mother and her friends. How does it affect Me?
I had better not think of my hard fate. Can I help thinking of it? Can I
dismiss from memory the unmerited misfortunes which have taken from me,
in the prime of her charms, the woman whom I love? At least I can try.
The good old moral must be _my_ moral: "Be content with such things as
ye have."
March 15.--It is eight in the morning--and I hardly know how to employ
myself. Having finished my coffee, I have just looked again at my diary.
It strikes me that I am falling into a bad habit of writing too much
about myself. The custom of keeping a journal certainly has this
drawback--it encourages egotism. Well, the remedy is easy. From this
date, I lock up my book--only to open it again when some event has
happened which has a claim to be recorded for its own sake.
Pages:
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