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Updated: May 22, 2025
Her health, which had hitherto been splendid, seemed to be giving way, and it was evident that her new position did not please her, and that, even after she had been there for months, she continued to feel herself "a stranger in a strange land." The people were uncongenial, and I think it likely they regarded Ideala's oddities with some suspicion, and did not take to her as we had done.
The child died of diphtheria some time afterwards, and in a little while, Ideala, who was then in her twenty-sixth year, returned to her old pursuits, and no one ever knew what she felt about it: For, it is with feelings as with waters The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb! My widowed sister, Claudia, was one of Ideala's most intimate friends.
If a man would comprehend a woman, let him consider himself; the woman has the same joys, sorrows, hopes, fears, pleasures, and passions expressed in another way, that is all. But, certainly, for a long time Ideala's guide was her feeling about a thing.
Carne asked with exaggerated deference to Ideala's opinion. "I don't know about being a writer," said Ideala. "Genius is versatile. There are many ways in which she might succeed. It depends on herself on the way she is finally impelled to choose. But great she will be in something if she lives."
"The fact is, my wife is not so well this evening, and she was afraid of the cold, and is staying in her own sitting-room." The "sitting-room" was a snug apartment, warm, cosy, luxurious, and we found a genial little party of intimate acquaintances there when we arrived. Ideala's husband was not one of them. He did not take her out much at that time.
One of Ideala's exploits got into the paper somehow, and she was annoyed about it, and anxious to make us believe the account of the risk she ran had been greatly exaggerated. I was present when she gave her own version of the story, which was characteristic in every way. "I heard frantic cries from the river," she said.
Once in a London theatre I saw an actress walk across the stage. She did not utter a word, she never looked at the audience, she was apparently unconscious of everything but what she had in her own mind; yet before she was half across the stage the people rose to their feet with a roar. Ideala's coming amongst us had produced some such startling effect; but her power was altogether occult.
"You would say it is simply degrading," Ideala interposed. "I do not feel it so. I glory in it." "I know," said Claudia, pitilessly. "You all do." And then she got up, and laid her hand on Ideala's shoulder. "It is time," she said, earnestly, "It is time, O passionate heart and morbid eye, That old hysterical mock-disease should die."
She took up her book again, and he resumed his writing, and for some time there was silence. But Ideala's attention wandered. She began to examine the room, which was, as usual, in a state of disorder. One side of it was lined with cabinets of various sizes and periods. Labels indicated the contents of some of them.
Some one in Slane gave Sir George Galbraith a hint of Dan's coarse jealousy, and he had judged it better for Beth that he should not call again; but his interest in her and his desire to help her increased if anything. He had read her manuscript carefully himself, and obtained Ideala's opinion of it also; but Beth had not done her best by any means in the one she had given him.
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