Lie mirror’d on the sea,
Confounding her astronomers,
But, O! delighting me.
XLIII
Verena Raby to Hazel Barrance
My Dear Hazel,—My last letter too, on this subject, but you must answer it. There is much in yours with which I sympathize and I think I understand all of it. There is a vein of almost fierce fastidiousness in our family (your grandfather had too much of it) which is discernible in you, but I don’t despair of seeing a deal of it broken down when you meet the right man. So much of what you say about things seems to me to be due to your manlessness. I don’t believe that any wholly right view of life is possible to celibates or those who have never loved. They must see it piecemeal. I don’t despair of you at all, but you must get out of the habit of expecting perfection. And where would the fun of marriage be if it was not partly warfare—give and take?—Your truly loving and solicitous
Aunt V.
P.S.—Don’t stop writing about yourself if you have any prompting to. What is an old bed-ridden woman for but to try and help others?