was a time when I felt that if
Aniela had become my wife, she would not only have been my love, but
also my dearest friend. But I prefer not to think of it. Ghosts of
this kind visit me far too often, and I shall never have any peace
until I banish them altogether.

4 April.

I meet Mrs. Davis here pretty often, and call upon her at her house.
And nothing else! There is some dislike, a little contempt under a
thick layer of ashes, and for the rest, the usual social intercourse.
She is still too beautiful to be classified among my idiosyncrasies.
I cannot love her, and do not take the trouble to hate her. She
understood that at once, and adapted herself to circumstances. All the
same she cannot always conceal her irritation at my self-possession
and cool independence; but for that very reason shows me greater
consideration. It is very strange, that easiness with which women from
closest relations pass on to mere acquaintanceship. Laura and I treat
each other as if there had never been anything between us,--not only
before people, but even when we are alone together. It does not
seem to cost her the slightest effort; she is polite, cool, and
self-possessed, affable in her way, and her manners influence me
to such a degree that I should never dream of calling her by her
Christian name.

The Neapolitan cousin, Maleschi, used to roll his eyes so ferociously
at me that I almost considered it my duty to ask him not to injure his
optics; he has now calmed down, seeing how very distant our relations
to each other are, and is very friendly towards me. He has already
fought a duel about Laura, and in spite of the reputation of coward he
had in Italy, showed a deal of pluck. Poor Davis has passed to Nirvana
some months ago, and I suppose after a decent interval of widowhood,
Laura will marry Maleschi. They will make a splendid couple. The
Italian has the torso and head of an Antinous; in addition to that, a
complexion like pale gold, raven black hair, and eyes as blue as the
Mediterranean. It may be that Laura loves him, but for some reason
known only to herself, she bullies him a great deal. Several times in
my presence she treated him so uncivilly that I was surprised, as I
had thought her aesthetic nature incapable of such an exhibition of
temper. Aspasia and Xantippe in one.

I have often noticed that women, merely beautiful, without striking
qualities of the soul, who are looked upon as stars, are something
more than s