Some folk don't like to walk over Bluebells or Buttercups or other flowers growing on the ground. But it is foolish to try to pamper Nature as if she were a sickly child. She is strong and can stand it. You can stamp on and crush a thousand flowers—they will all come up again next year.
By some labyrinthine way which I cannot now recall, the conversation worked round to a leading question by E.—if in times like these we ought not to cease being in love? She was quite calm and serious. I said "No, of course not, silly." My immediate apprehension was that she had perceived the coldness in my letters and I was quite satisfied that she was so well able to read the signs in the sky. "But you don't wish to go on?" she persisted. I persisted that I did, that I had no misgivings, no second thoughts, that I was not merely taking pity on her, etc. The wild temptation to seize this opportunity for a break I smothered in reflecting how ill she was and how necessary to wait first till she was well again. These thoughts passed swiftly, vaguely like wraiths thro' my mind: I was barely conscious of them. Then I recalled the sonnet about coming in the rearward of a conquered woe and mused thereon. But I took no action. [Fortunately—for me. 1916.]
Presently with cunning I said that there was no cloud on my horizon whatever—only her "letters disappointed me a little—they were so cold," but "as soon as I saw you again, darling, those feelings disappeared."
As soon as they were spoken I knew they were not as they might seem, the words of a liar and hypocrite. They became true. E—— looked very sweet and helpless and I loved her again as much as ever.
"It's funny," she said, "but I thought your letters were cold. Letters are so horrid."
The incident shews how impossible is intellectual honesty between lovers. Truth is at times a hound which must to kennel.
"Write as you would speak," said I. "You know I'm not one to carp about a spelling mistake!"
The latter remark astonished me. Was it indeed I who was speaking? All the week I had been fuming over this. Yet I was honest: the Sun and E.'s presence were dispelling my ill-humours and crochets. We sealed our conversation with a kiss and swore never to doubt each other again. E.'s spell was beginning to act. It is always the same. I cannot resist the actual presence of this woman. Out of her sight, I can in cold blood plan a brutal rupture. I can pay her a visit when the first kiss is a duty and the embrace a formality. But after 5 minutes I am as passionate and devoted as before. It is always thus. After leaving her, I am angry to think that once more I have succumbed.
In the evening we went out into a field and sat together in the grass. It is beautiful. We lay flat on our backs and gazed up at the sky.