Personally I think too much respect is paid to age. There is nothing
clever in being old--nothing at all. On the other hand, youth has a
charm of its own. Besides, twenty-two is not young; you wouldn't
think me so if you really knew me. The doubt arises, I suppose, from
a certain innate light-heartedness. It is really rather pathetic.
Daphne chooses to see humour in the situation, which is very absurd
of her, and, as I point out, merely reflects on herself. Surely she
doesn't wish to admit that it is foolish to love her.
And that, to make a clean breast of it, is exactly what I do, and do
madly.
I follow her about, reverently watching her every movement, hanging
on her every word--no light task. And my reward? A scant unceremonious
"Hallo!" when we meet; a scanter "Night" or "Morning," according to
the circumstances, when we part. A brave smile from me and she is
gone, an unwitting spectator of a real tragedy.
Up to a few days ago I was content to bear with my lot, but last week
I rebelled. It was at a dance, after supper. Daphne had certainly
shown a sort of affection for me, motherly rather than otherwise,
I think; nevertheless an affection. But then, and not for the first
time, I had seen her flirting with another.
I decided to lose my temper. I went into the smoke-room and
deliberated very close to the fire. In five minutes I left the room
heated.