“Who is it? I must know who it is.”
“No, Paul. I will tell you later on. Hush!”
“You are a fanciful creature,” he said, laughing and patting my cheek.
COUNT PAUL KAMAROWSKY
I felt hurt at his calm acceptance of what I had told him, and wondered that he did not insist upon knowing more. I reflected in my folly that if he really loved me he ought to have been less satisfied and secure. I did not understand—alas! I never understood—his guileless and noble trust in me. The insensate and exacting passion of others who until now had dominated my life had spoiled me for all normal affection. Hypersensitive and overwrought, I myself suffered unless I caused suffering to those I loved; nor did I ever feel sure of their love unless they doubted mine.
The love that varies not from day to day,
A tranquil love, unruffled and serene—
was not the love I knew. My storm-tossed heart did not recognize it. Neither on that day nor ever could I bring myself to believe that Paul Kamarowsky really loved me.