thought what a help it would be to be with you,
and afterwards I made the suggestion of an Australian trip on literary
business to Aunt Eliza, but it was no good. She is deeply engaged just
now in driving batches of stuffy relatives in a stuffy brougham--luckily
there's no room for me in it--to still stuffier garden parties. And,
besides, I don't feel that I can take any desperate step of that kind
until the Irrevocable has been written in Destiny's Book.

Will Maule is not married yet.

Well, anyhow, the meditation on Friendship was comparatively
successful. Wisdom I found beyond me, and Beauty awakened painful
memories. To-day I mean to concentrate on wealth--one of my Professor's
theories is that if you concentrate regularly on a thing you are bound
in the long run to get what you set your mind upon, and I do find my
position of dependence upon Aunt Eliza too unspeakably galling. What a
monstrous injustice it seems that I--who if I had been born a boy, must
have been Earl of Gaverick, should be at the mercy of an ill-tempered,
miserly, old woman who may leave the home of my forefathers to a
crossing-sweeper if she pleases. I suppose it ought to go to Chris, but
one doesn't feel called upon to arraign Fate on behalf of a distant
cousin who by rights has no business to be Lord Gaverick at all.

I'm concentrating on Art too. Every day I do some inspirational
painting by the sea shore. I've made some studies of Wave-fairies for
the Children's Story Book we planned to do together. It's quite
invigorating to sport about with them in imagination, in a grey-green
stormy sea, out of reach of human banalities. I can feel the cold spray
as I paint and the sense of power and rest in the elemental forces--an
almost Wagnerian feeling of great Cosmic Realities.'

Again Mrs Gildea smiled to herself. How like Biddy O'Hara!

She couldn't be so utterly heart-broken if she was able to practise
deep breathing and concentration--Wealth, Friendship, Art--a pretty
comprehensive repertoire--and to prate on Cosmic Realities and the
Wagnerian feeling!

But presently the tragic note shrieked again. Bridget went on:

'I am in a fever of suspense and misery wondering whether Will's
marriage will come off or if, at the last moment, it will be broken. He
has been obsessing me these last days. He too--I am certain of
it--dreads the Irrevocable, and regrets the rupture between us. I dream
of him continually--such restless, tantalising dreams.