A Room with a View
alive in you all the summer; how she gave you no peace; how month after
month she became more eccentric and unreliable. The sight of us haunted
her—or she couldn’t have described us as she did to her friend. There
are details—it burnt. I read the book afterwards. She is not frozen,
Lucy, she is not withered up all through. She tore us apart twice, but
in the rectory that evening she was given one more chance to make us
happy. We can never make friends with her or thank her. But I do
believe that, far down in her heart, far below all speech and
behaviour, she is glad.”
“It is impossible,” murmured Lucy, and then, remembering the
experiences of her own heart, she said: “No—it is just possible.”
Youth enwrapped them; the song of Phaethon announced passion requited,
love attained. But they were conscious of a love more mysterious than
this. The song died away; they heard the river, bearing down the snows
of winter into the Mediterranean.