I perceive that the young man of the idiot metaphor was gifted with piercing acumen. Beneath the Jaquesian melancholy of my temperament he diagnosed the potentiality of canine rabidness. No rational being is afflicted with this grotesque concentration of idea, this fierce hot fury waxing in intensity day by day.
I must consult a brain specialist.
October 25th.
I went to Judith this afternoon, more to prove the loyalty of my friendship than to seek comfort from her society. Over tea we discussed the weather and books and her statistical work. It was dull, but unembarrassing. The grey twilight crept into the room and there was a pause in our talk. She broke it by asking, without looking at me:
“When are we to have an evening together again?”
“Whenever you like, my dear Judith.”
“To-morrow?”
“I am afraid not to-morrow,” said I.
“Are you doing anything so very particular?”
“I have arranged to take Carlotta to the Empire.”