But what was the use? He was an absurd old man, that was all. But none the less, as I stepped back and entered my own room, I found myself shivering oddly. There was an uncomfortable pressure at the back of my head, and my heart was skipping beats.
It is the first time in my life, I think, that I have been seized by the impulse to do physical harm to a fellow creature.
Before putting on my pajamas to-night I stood and looked at my bare chest and arms in my broken mirror. My chest is narrow, my skin white. My arms are thin. Possibly I could n't have strangled him, if I had tried. I wish I were strong.
A little earlier than that, before she closed our door, I asked her if Sir Robert was annoying her in any serious way.
The question made her very grave—graver even than usual. She looked at me, then dropped her eyes, and said nothing. But after a moment she looked up again, made one of those efforts to smile that are pain to me, and shrugged her shoulders. That was all.
April 11th.
SIR ROBERT is always hovering about the office and the lounge when I appear, and he always tries to engage me in talk. I can't understand it. He is insistent. He acts as if I fascinate him. Twice to-day I fairly ran away from him. I was afraid I would strike him. It makes me physically uncomfortable to have him so much as stand near me, even if he does not try to take my hand in greeting.
I fear I am not managing this matter very well. I am acting aimlessly, and in a sort of panic of the soul. This won't do.