“Miss Janina Dernowicz.”
“I was asking about artists; I am not one.”
“Ah, I see.—Artists? The prettiest is Miss Wartoslawska, whom I have known for a good long space of time. But just now she is far from looking as well as usual.—Why does not Owinski come here with her now?”
“Owinski?” I hesitated for a moment. Then: “Well, the engagement has been broken off for a month,” I said.
“Has it? Yes, I had heard something about his being affianced to some one, but fancied it was only gossip.... Why, he seemed to be a very passive sort of fellow, and bore the yoke meekly enough.”
“I don’t know who is responsible for what has taken place.”
“Oh, you have but to look at her, and you can’t help guessing.... Besides, women always love longer and more deeply. It is through love that they attain their highest degree of culture; and I must acknowledge that, so far as culture goes, they have outstripped men; a woman’s instinct stands higher than the wisdom of a man.”
“Why, Stephen, from where have you got this attitude of benevolent optimism towards woman?”
“Of tragical pessimism, I should say,” he answered, gayly, but then was lost in a brown study.
How am I to know? Very likely this also is love. And a good thing, too, that it came to me: I was so lonely then and so crushed with longing!