On the other hand, I was afraid that the invitation was only a casual one, I feared a snuffy reception, a frosty smile and a rigid hand. Could I go up and partake of meat at their board, among brothers and sisters taking me for an ogre of a jilt, and she herself perhaps opposite me making me blush perpetually to recall our one-time passionate kisses, our love letters and our execrable verses to each other! There seemed dreadful possibilities in such an adventure. Yet I badly wanted to experience the piquant situation.
At 7 p.m., half an hour before I was due, decided on strong measures. I entered a pub and took a stiff whisky and soda, and then set off with a stout heart to take the icy family by storm—and if need be live down my evil reputation by my amiability and urbanity!
I went—and of course everything passed off in the most normal manner. She is a very pretty girl—like velvet. Before dinner, we walked in the garden—and talked only of flowers.
June 4.
On the Hill, this morning, felt the thrill of the news of my own Death: I mean I imagined I heard the words,—
"You've heard the news about B——?"
Second Voice: "No, what?"
"He's dead."
Silence.
Won't all this seem piffle if I don't die after all! As an artist in life I ought to die; it is the only artistic ending —and I ought to die now or the Third Act will fizzle out in a long doctor's bill.