"Of course, unrelieved tenderness and not a high note in the gamut. But you should hear Clarissa; I only ask you to hear her once, and let those glorious accents play upon your crass heart for a moment or two. O Jasper, Jasper, it shakes the very soul!"
Tom was evidently in a very advanced stage of the sickness; I could not find it in my heart to return his flouts of a month before, so I said—
"Very well, my dear Tom, I shall look upon your divinity in November. I do not promise you she will have the effect that you look forward to, but I am glad your Francesca will be worthily played; and, Tom, I am glad you are in love; I think it improves you."
"It is hopeless—absolutely hopeless; she is cold as ice."
"What, with that voice and those eyes? Nonsense, man."
"She is cold as ice," groaned poor Tom; "everyone says so."
"Of course everyone says so; you ought to be glad of that, for this is the one point on which what everyone says must from the nature of things be false. Why, man, if she beamed on the whole world, then I might believe you."
From which it will be gathered that I had learned something from being in love.
So sad did I consider Tom's case, that I spoke to Claire about it when I saw her next.
"Claire," I said, "you have often heard me speak of Tom."