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Updated: June 22, 2025
Only the fact that we are unaware how well our nearest know us enables us to live with them. Love is the most impregnable refuge of self-esteem, and we hate the eye that reaches to our nakedness. If Glennard did not hate his wife it was slowly, sufferingly, that there was born in him that profounder passion which made his earlier feeling seem a mere commotion of the blood.
The assumption that Flamel knew about the letters had become a fact to Glennard; and it now seemed to him better that Alexa should know too. He was frightened at first by the discovery of his own indifference. The last barriers of his will seemed to be breaking down before a flood of moral lassitude.
Aubyn had so few intimate friends, and consequently so few regular correspondents, that letters will be of special value. Professor Joslin's address is 10 Augusta Gardens, Kensington, and he begs us to say that he "will promptly return any documents entrusted to him." Glennard dropped the Spectator and sat looking into the fire.
Glennard, with the recklessness of a man fresh from his first financial imprudence, encouraged her in such little extravagances as her good sense at first resisted. Since they had come to town, he argued, they might as well enjoy themselves.
And still they did not speak. It was several weeks later that, one afternoon by the drawing-room fire, she handed him a letter that she had been reading when he entered. "I've heard from Mr. Flamel," she said. Glennard turned pale. It was as though a latent presence had suddenly become visible to both. He took the letter mechanically. "It's from Smyrna," she said. "Won't you read it?"
"A collection of autograph letters, eh? Any big names?" "Oh, only one name. They're all letters written to him by one person, you understand; a woman, in fact " "Oh, a woman," said Flamel, negligently. Glennard was nettled by his obvious loss of interest. "I rather think they'd attract a good deal of notice if they were published." Flamel still looked uninterested. "Love-letters, I suppose?"
The part was a small one Flamel had few intimate friends but composed of more heterogeneous atoms than the little pools into which society usually runs. The reaction from the chief episode of his earlier life had bred in Glennard an uneasy distaste for any kind of personal saliency.
Glennard stood motionless, overcome by the singular infelicity with which he had contrived to put Flamel in possession of the two points most damaging to his case: the fact that he had been a friend of Margaret Aubyn's, and that he had concealed from Alexa his share in the publication of the letters.
I don't know what I should have done if Alexa hadn't been home to give me a cup of tea. My nerves are in shreds yes, another, dear, please " and as Glennard looked his perplexity, she went on, after pondering on the selection of a second lump of sugar, "Why, I've just come from the reading, you know the reading at the Waldorf."
"Ah," said the inspired librarian, "Eloise and Abailard." "Well something a little nearer, perhaps," said Glennard, with lightness. "Didn't Merimee " "The lady's letters, in that case, were not published." "Of course not," said Glennard, vexed at his blunder. "There are George Sand's letters to Flaubert." "Ah!" Glennard hesitated.
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