is mouth and no knowledge of any but the commonest words tried
to read Shelley to me....

"I wish I could pray with you, Stephen; I wish I could kneel down
somewhere with you of all people and pray."

Sec. 6

Presently our correspondence fell away. The gaps between our letters
lengthened out. We never wrote regularly because for that there must be
a free exchange upon daily happenings, and neither of us cared to dwell
too closely on our immediate lives. We had a regard for one another that
left our backgrounds vague and shadowy. She had made her appeal across
the sundering silences to me and I had answered, and we had poured out
certain things from our minds. We could not go on discussing. I was a
very busy man now, and she did not write except on my replies.

For a gap of nearly four months neither of us had anything to say in a
letter at all. I think that in time our correspondence might have
altogether died away. Then she wrote again in a more familiar strain to
tell me of certain definite changes of relationship and outlook. She
said that the estrangement between herself and Justin had increased
during the past year; that they were going to live practically apart;
she for the most part in the Surrey house where her two children lived
with their governesses and maids. But also she meant to snatch weeks and
seasons for travel. Upon that they had been disputing for some time. "I
know it is well with the children," she wrote; "why should I be in
perpetual attendance? I do nothing for them except an occasional kiss,
or half-an-hour's romping. Why should one pretend? Justin and I have
wrangled over this question of going away, for weeks, but at last
feminine persistence has won. I am going to travel in my own fashion and
see the world. With periodic appearances at his side in London and
Scotland. We have agreed at least on one thing, and that is upon a
companion; she is to be my secretary in title, my moral guarantor in
fact, and her name which is her crowning glory is Stella Summersley
Satchel. She is blonde, erect, huffy-mannered and thoroughly up to both
sides of her work. I partly envy her independence and rectitude--partly
only. It's odd and quite inconsistent of me that I don't envy her
altogether. In theory I insist that a woman should not have charm,--it
is our undoing. But when I meet one without it----!

"I shall also trail a maid, but I guess that young woman will learn what
it is to be left behind in ha