There was growth in Casa Felice, slow
but stubborn, growth in the secret places of the soul, till there came a
time when not merely the white angel, but the whole woman, angel and that
which had perhaps been devil too, was able to accept the yoke laid upon
her with patience, was able to say, "I can endure it bravely."
Lord Holme presently took his case to the Courts. It was undefended and
he won it. Not long ago Viola Holme became Viola Carey.
When Robin Pierce heard of it in Rome he sat for a long time in deep
thought. Even now, even after all that had passed, he felt a thrill of
pain that was like the pain of jealousy. He wished for the impossible, he
wished that he had been born with his friend's nature; that, instead of
the man who could only talk of being, he were the man who could be. And
yet, in the past, he had sometimes surely defended Viola against Carey's
seeming condemnation! He had defended and not loved--but Carey had judged
and loved.
Carey had judged and loved, yet Carey had said he did not believe in a
God. Robin wondered if he believed now.
Robin was in Rome, and could not hear the words of a man and a woman who
were sitting one night, after the marriage, upon a piazza above the Lake
of Como.
The man said:
"Do you remember Robin's '/Danseuse de Tunisie/'?"
"The woman with the fan?"
"Yes. I see her now without the fan. With it she was a siren, perhaps,
but without it she is--"
"What is she without it?"
"Eternal woman.
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