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Updated: May 23, 2025
He seems quite eager to impart personal information or perhaps I did not learn it all then, but afterwards. For there has been no getting away from the man, Berthalina; you may believe that my will was good. At night, I got the chambermaid to lock me in that atrocious little cabin of mine. There he was, patiently keeping guard over the table in the window!
"I thought you might have done," he said, and went on with his breakfast. You'll say he talked such nonsense to get me to look at him, Berthalina; and of course I did. He has not the appearance of a seer of ghosts: a huge, heavy man, with a hump on a big, characterful nose; a powerful jaw, and very quick, blue eyes beneath shaggy eyebrows. The talk of ghosts seemed out of place on such firm lips.
"My sister is a sleep-walker," I said, and waited, with the sound of the sea and the band and the multitude in the near distance booming in my head. "Even last night I awoke to find our door open," I added. "She had wandered in her sleep." I had said it; but I declare to you, Berthalina, the effort left me weak as a baby.
Your writing is never too legible, Berthalina, and my head and eyes were aching, that morning, and I felt less rested than when I had gone to bed.
The information did not flow from me as I desired, but was, rather, gasped out or so it seems to me on looking back. I felt him turn his eyes on me they look absurdly blue and youthful in his sun-reddened, middle-aged face but I think I mentioned this before. You know how I love a man's hair clipped to the bone, Berthalina? My dear, this one wears his in a mop!
As effulgent, moon-silvered, glorious, as we may look on in Paradise, Berthalina, if God hears the "silly sailor-folk," as Kipling has undertaken that He will. Ah! The sea, as revealed by the coffee-room window, sparkling in sunshine, dotted with fishing-boats, the white bathing-machines defining its margin, is but a vulgar thing, compared with the sea of my dream. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
What is there for us to do but to console each other?" He reached out a hand, palm upwards, to me across the table. "You will find life pleasanter as a doctor's wife than as a doctor," he said. "And " But I have told you enough till next mail, Berthalina. By that time, perhaps, you will have prepared yourself for the rest of what he said to me, and what I answered.
When he had reappeared, in his great loose grey flannels, his straw hat on his head, a book in his hand, and had gone downstairs, I flew along the corridor and pushed open the door of the room he had left. Berthalina, it was the room of my dream!
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