She burst into tears once more—real tears—.
"Je t'aime bien!" she whispered—"I shall go to Deauville—Va!"
We wrung hands, and she went to the door, but there she turned, and some of her old fire came back to her—.
"Pah! these English Meeses! thin, stiff, ennuyeuse!—thou wilt yet regret thy Suzette, Nicholas!" and with this she left me.
So that episode in my life is ended—and I shall never repeat the experiment.
But are not women the most amazing creatures!
You adore them and give them abject devotion and they treat you as dirt—nothing can be so cruel as the tenderest hearted woman is to a male slave—! Another woman appears upon the scene—then the first one begins to treat you with some respect. You grow masterful—love is aroused in her. You become indifferent—and very often it is she who then turns into the slave!—The worst of it is that when you really care you are incapable of playing a game successfully. The woman's subconscious mind knows that it is merely pretense—and so she remains a tyrant.—It is only when she herself has ceased to put forth sufficient attraction to keep you and you are growing numb that you can win out and find your self-respect again.
There was a moment when I was very angry with Suzette and almost shaking her, when I saw in her eyes the first look of real passionate affection—!
Are there any women in the world who could be mates?—who would be able to love one, and hold one at the same time—satisfying one's mind and one's spirit and one's body—?—Could Alathea—?—I do not know.
I had got this far in my speculations when a note was brought to me by a smart French maid—it was now past eleven at night—.