CHAPTER XI

uchanice,rich,Englishname,too,and,inaddition,hehasallthegracesofintellecthehasreadliterallyeverything.ItellKatharine,Ishallalwaysputhimonmyrightsideatdinner,soastohavehimbymewhenpeoplebegintalkingaboutcharactersinShakespeare.Theywon’tberich,butthey’llbevery,veryhappy.Iwassittinginmyroomlateonenight,feelingthatnothingnicewouldeverhappentomeagain,whenIheardKatharineoutsideinthepassage,andIthoughttomyself,‘ShallIcallherin?’andthenIthought(inthathopeless,drearywayonedoesthink,withthefiregoingoutandone’sbirthdayjustover),‘WhyshouldIlaymytroublesonher?’Butmylittleself-controlhaditsreward,fornextmomentshetappedatthedoorandcamein,andsatontherug,andthoughweneitherofussaidanything,IfeltsohappyallofasecondthatIcouldn’thelpcrying,‘Oh,Katharine,whenyoucometomyage,howIhopeyou’llhaveadaughter,too!’YouknowhowsilentKatharineis.Shewassosilent,forsuchalongtime,thatinmyfoolish,nervousstateIdreadedsomething,Idon’tquiteknowwhat.Andthenshetoldmehow,afterall,shehadmadeuphermind.Shehadwritten.Sheexpectedhimto-morrow.AtfirstIwasn’tgladatall.Ididn’twanthertomarryanyonebutwhenshesaid,‘Itwillmakenodifference.Ishallalwayscareforyouandfathermost,’thenIsawhowselfishIwas,andItoldhershemustgivehimeverything,everything,everything!ItoldherIshouldbethankfultocomesecond.Butwhy,wheneverything’sturnedoutjustasonealwayshopeditwouldturnout,whythencanonedonothingbutcry,nothingbutfeeladesolateoldwomanwhoselife’sbeenafailure,andnowisnearlyover,andageissocruel?ButKatharinesaidtome,‘Iamhappy.I’mveryhappy.’AndthenIthought,thoughitallseemedsodesperatelydismalatthetime,Katharinehadsaidshewashappy,andIshouldhaveason,anditwouldallturnoutsomuchmorewonderfullythanIcouldpossiblyimagine,forthoughthesermonsdon’tsayso,Idobelievetheworldismeantforustobehappyin.Shetoldmethattheywouldlivequitenearus,andseeuseverydayandshewouldgoonwiththeLife,andweshouldfinishitaswehadmeantto.And,afterall,itwouldbefarmorehorridifshedidn’tmarry—orsupposeshemarriedsomeonewecouldn’tendure?Supposeshehadfalleninlovewithsomeonewhowasmarriedalready? “Andthoughoneneverthinksanyonegoodenoughforthepeopleone’sfondof,hehasthekindest,truestinstincts,I’msure,andthoughheseemsnervousandhismannerisnotcommanding,Ionlythinkthesethingsbecauseit’sKatharine.AndnowI’vewrittenthis,itcomesovermethat,ofcourse,allthetime,Katharinehaswhathehasn’t.Shedoescommand,sheisn’tnervousitcomesnaturallytohertoruleandcontrol.It’stimethatsheshouldgiveallthistosomeonewhowillneedherwhenwearen’tthere,saveinourspirits,forwhateverpeoplesay,I’msureIshallcomebacktothiswonderfulworldwhereone’sbeensohappyandsomiserable,where,evennow,IseemtoseemyselfstretchingoutmyhandsforanotherpresentfromthegreatFairyTreewhoseboughsarestillhungwithenchantingtoys,thoughtheyarerarernow,perhaps,andbetweenthebranchesoneseesnolongerthebluesky,butthestarsandthetopsofthemountains. “Onedoesn’tknowanymore,doesone?Onehasn’tanyadvicetogiveone’schildren.Onecanonlyhopethattheywillhavethesamevisionandthesamepowertobelieve,withoutwhichlifewouldbesomeaningless.ThatiswhatIaskforKatharineandherhusband.”