But his mistaken Thought, born of a smile and a
photograph, grew steadily stronger and waxed fat upon the everyday
trivialities which should have slain it. So powerful had it become
that, by the time of Desire's arrival on the veranda, it had closed
every road of interpretation save its own.
Nor was John in more reasonable case. His mistaken Thought was
different in action but equally successful in effect. Born of an
insistent desire, and nursed by half fearful hope, it stood a beggar
at the door of life, snatching from every passing circumstance the
crumbs by which it lived. Did Desire smile--how eagerly John's
famished Thought would claim it for his own. Did she frown--how
quick it was to find some foreign cause for frowning. And, as Desire
woke to love under his eyes, how ceaselessly it worked to add belief
to hope. How plausibly it reasoned, how cleverly it justified! That
Spence loved his wife, the Thought would not accept as possible. All
John's actual knowledge of the depth and steadfastness of his
friend's nature was pooh-poohed or ignored. Benis, dear old chap,
cared nothing for women. Hadn't he always shunned them in his quiet
way? And hadn't he, John, warned Benis, anyway? The Thought insisted
upon the warning with virtuous emphasis. It pointed out that Benis
had laughed at the warning. Even if--but we need not follow John's
excursions further. They all led through devious ways to the old,
old justification of everything in love and war.
Pages:
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280