He could only see room for glory--and glory he does. I cannot tell you what
that boy is like about the baby; at present he thinks, day and night, of
nothing else. It is the most terrific thing to watch his feeling about
it--and meanwhile he takes it for granted that Clare feels the same....
Well, she doesn't. I have been in a good deal during these last few days
and she's stranger than words can say--doesn't see the child if she can
help it--loves it, worships it, when it is there, and--is terrified of it.
I saw a look in her eyes when she was nursing it yesterday that was sheer
undiluted terror. She's been frightened out of her life, and if I know
her the least little bit she's absolutely made up her mind never to be
frightened like that again. She is going to hurl herself into a perfect
whirlpool of excitement and entertainment and drag Peter with her if she
can. Meanwhile, behind that hard little head of hers, she's making plans
just as fast as she can make them. I believe she looks on life now as
though it had broken the compact that she made with it--a compact that
things should always be easy, comfortable, above all, never threatening.
The present must be calm but the Future's absolutely got to be--and I
believe, although she loves him devotedly in the depths of her strange
little soul, that she half blames Peter for all of this disturbance, and
that there are a great many things about him--his earlier life, his earlier
friends, even his work--that she would strip from him if she could.
Pages:
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479