Her holiness for him was still intact but for another there
would be human, earthly wonders.
Then, curiously, as he met her more often and knew her better there
came a certain easy, almost casual, intercourse. One Clare Rossiter
still reigned amongst the clouds, but there was now too another easy,
fascinating, humorous creature who treated him almost like Alice Galleon
herself--laughed at him, teased him, provoked him ... suddenly, like a
shadow across a screen, would slip away; and he be on his knees again
before something that was only to be worshipped.
These two shapes of her crossed and were confused and again were parted.
His thoughts were first worshipping in heaven, then dwelling with delight
on witty, charming things that she had said.
For that man, when he came, there would be a most wonderful treasure.
Peter now lost his appetite. He could not sleep at night. He would slip out
of his room, cross the silent Chelsea streets and watch her dark window.
He cultivated Mrs. Rossiter and that massive and complacent lady took it
entirely to herself. Indeed, nothing, at this time was more remarkable than
the little stir that Peter's devotion caused. It was perhaps that Clare had
always had a cloud of young men about her, perhaps that Peter was thought
to be having too wonderful a time, just now, to be falling in love as
well--that would be piling Life on to Life! .
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