For the first time she knew what
love was and realized that she had cared for Calvert with all the
repressed tenderness and unsounded depths of her heart. Her very
helplessness, the impossibility to recall him, made him more dear to her
by far. A man can stretch out his hand and seize his happiness, but a
woman must wait for hers. And if it passes her by she must bear her hurt
in silence and as best she can. It was with a sort of blind despair that
Adrienne thought of Calvert and all that she had wilfully thrown away.
Had he been at her beck and call, fetched and carried for her, she would
never have loved him. But the consciousness that he was as proud as she,
that, though he was near her for so long, she could not lure him back,
that he could master his love and defy her beauty and charm, exercised a
fascination over her. And when he left her entirely and was gone away
without even seeing her, she suddenly realized how deeply she loved him.
We have all had such experiences--we live along, thinking of things
after a certain fashion, and suddenly there comes a day when everything
seems changed.
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