Mademoiselle Josephine's Fridays, and other stories

Front matter

FRIDAYS, AND OTHER STORIES. By the same Author. KITTY. In One Vol., Crown $voy Cloth, with a Frontispiece. Price Ss. 6d. Being Volume II. of "THE CORNHILL LIBRARY OP FICTION." Extracts from some Press Notices of " Kitty.' " The fascination which holds all the male characters in this novel spell-bound at the feet of the heroine, is to some extent communicated to its readers. . . . The story is lively and clever. . . . these scenes of artist-life are amusing; there ia a certain dash in every description. The dialogue is bright and sparkling."— Athenæum. " In the heroine of her remarkable and very readable novel Miss Betham- Edwards has given us a picture of a true woman. . . . It is very pleasant and amusing, and can be read from beginning to end with uninterrupted enjoyment." — Globe. " ' Kitty ' is in the author's best style ; and, like all her works, is clever, lively, and interesting." — Daily News.

" ' Kitty ' is a charming novel. The moral is good, and the plot well developed." —John Bull. " It ia a long time since we have read such a thoroughly fascinating story as this. It possesses the charm of deep and well-sustained interest, of originality, and of really good writing. We have seldom met with better delineations of character than are here; each individual introduced is a perfect study, and causes us to wonder at and admire the author's knowledge of human nature, and her cleverness at so vividly imparting it. The conversational parts, too, are admirably piquant, but thoroughly natural and consistent with the talkers."— Observer. "'Kitty' is lively, fresh, and clever."— Daily Telegraph. " Have you read ' Kitty ' ? are the words passing from mouth to mouth in fashionable society at this moment."— Tablet.

" The other characters that group round Kitty are capitally drawn ; beautiful Perugino Neave, the simple-hearted genius, without guile and without principle ; jolly Mrs. Cornford, with her clever saws, her pathetic tenderness, and her shrewd sense ; Dr. Norman the scholar —earnest, high-souled, and reserved— a man whose feelings run in narrow channels, deep, clear, and strong ; Ella Bartelott, a white rose among women, and her fussy father, Sir George."— Echo. Henry S. King & Co., 65 Cornhill, and 12 Paternoster Row, London. FBIDAYS, AND OTHER STORIES. By M. BETHAM-EDjLABDS, AUTH0K OP " KITTY, " DR. JACOB, ' JOHN AND I, ETC., ETC. Heney S. King & Co., 65 COENHILL, AND 12 PATEENOSTEE Row, LONDON. 1874. (All rights reserved.) CONTENTS. I. MADEMOISELLE JOSEPHINE'S FRIDAYS. page Chap. I. — A Medical Quartette ...... 1 H. — Theresine 8 III. — Love ..... 15 IV. — Foreshadowings ....... 20 V. — Mystification 27 VI. — A Toast 33 VII. — A Rustic Fete 39 VIII. — The Beginning or the End .... 45 IX. — Mysteries . 50 X. — The Fate has Come ! 55 XI. — Theresine in Trust ...... 60 XII. — Mr Mission 67 XIII. — Near the End ........ 74 XIV.— The Last Friday 78 XV.— A Clue . . . 84 XVI. — Unravelled 89 II.

Chapter I

A MEDICAL QUARTETTE. Mademoiselle Josephine Latjgier and her weekly parties, semi-literary, semi-musical, semi-Bohemian, were acknowledged bores. There was always the same amount of love-making between Mademoiselle Josephine and the plump author, whose coat seemed spitefully resolved not to accommodate itself to such plumpness ; there was always the same shuffling to and fro of Mademoiselle's shabby, dingy, crooked little sister Euphrosine, as she clucked like a lame bantam over what crumbs of compliment Fate and sister Josephine allowed. And there was always the same assortment of guests. Artists who lived, literally, in the jj clouds, and whose works were regularly exhibited in the hall marked Refuse of the Exposition ; journalists whose horizon of literary ambition was bounded by the Courier de Dimanche, and Petit Journal ; barristers who walked up and down the Salle de Pas Perdus daily, no more expecting briefs than waiters expect vails from acrimonious maiden ladies ; such were the elements that made up our ultimatum of unkind Fate — Mademoiselle Josephine's Friday reception.

The one redeeming point in so much boredom was the excessive liveliness and cordiality of our hostess. Three circumstances enabled Mademoiselle Josephine to be amiable without losing her dignity, and cordial without losing her reputation. In the first place, she was a professor of music of high standing; in the second, she was no longer young ; in the third, — let me hurry over the words, — she had lost her beauty. But she did not need to be handsome. She was admhable. You could not help liking her, and you readily forgave her little vanities, because they seemed so many small homages paid to yourself. As to Monsieur Vermeil, the plump author, he evidently thought her an angel, though why he should have thought thus for so long and made no proposals of marriage, was a mystery inscrutable to us all.

It seemed a paradox, nay, more than a paradox, that such ardent A MEDICAL QUARTETTE. 3 love-making should neither grow cool nor come to a climax; especially as Monsieur Vermeil was indolent, fat, fussy, and the lady might be supposed to have passed the Bubicon of romance. But Fridays went by, and months, and seasons. Mademoiselle Josephine still wore maiden white, her lover still praised the toilette ; both went through their perfect little gamut of courtship — and nothing came of it. Probably poor little Euphrosine was the only being to whom Josephine appeared in an ungrateful light. The fact is, Euphrosine reaped the benefit of her sister's pretty rooms, weekly parties, and choice little dinners ; and it is not in human nature tenderly to love those who too much need our liberality. Euphrosine was a teacher of languages ; a teacher, moreover, by right of Imperial diploma ; but what with ill-health, and the plentifulness of diplomas, her profession was far from remunerative.

The natural consequence of these circumstances was that Euphrosine wore old-fashioned silks, handed round the sugar-water and gooseberry-syrup on Friday even ings, only went to the opera when some one gave her a ticket, and accepted her sister's caprices as matters of course. One can hardly blame Mademoiselle Josephine for such a state of things. She could not force people to employ her sister ; she could not help Euphrosine's personal deformity ; she could not, or at least most probably she could not, provide her with a suitable wardrobe. And then if Josephine were capricious, Euphrosine could be dogmatic. To hear the little woman stand by her guns in all discussions concerning politics, literature, or social statics, was a wonderful thing. She would talk down a dozen talkers, no matter of what ability.

And Euphrosine had other compensations besides the reputation of a masculine understanding. Men did not make love to her, but, by taking her into their confidence, they paid the compliment that stands next to love making. Shabbily apparelled, rough as to coiffure, evidently wanting in the personal ambition of most ladies, perhaps few people contrived to take more pleasure when opportunity offered than this little lame Institutrice Diplomee. The most regular guests of the two ladies were, firstly, Monsieur Vermeil : Monsieur Figuier, a rubicund, rosy faced artist came next. We liked Monsieur Figuier ; his presence and his good temper could invariably be relied upon. He always came early ; he always stayed late ; he always sat in one place ; he always played dominoes to oblige the ladies, and whist to oblige the men.

Moreover, he had always read the papers, and knew when the waters would play at Versailles, or a new piece of Emile Augier's was to appear on the stage. A MEDICAL QUARTETTE. 5 Monsieur Bouqout, a tall, good-looking lawyer, was the only man of Mademoiselle Josephine's visitors who wore a dress coat, and did not make some sort of love to her. He came seldom, and seemed to regard his visits as complaisances. Perhaps the two ladies were his clients. Then there was a sentimental journalist, who recited his own effusions ; a professor of music ; and a sprinkling of uninteresting miscellaneous visitors, mostly old or middle-aged bachelors and old maids. I must now speak of ourselves. We were four students at the Sorbonne : much of an age, all poor, all of average education and ability, all on terms of cordial intimacy, but each differing from the other in character and in nationality.

Louis Laguesse was a Belgian, practical, hard-featured, and studious — when the Fates and his roystering com panions allowed. He was an excellent friend and a pleasant companion, perhaps for the very reason of his incapability of deep feelings or impressions. He could not sympathize, but he could skim the surface of things in an easy way, suggestive of sympathy. He could not love or hate in the full sense of the word, but his likes and dislikes were always founded on such admirable reasons, that other people envied the possession of them. Laguesse had only one fault. His essential good sense could but too often reprove others of folly. Yet he was very rarely heard to blame, never to condemn. Aleck McKay was a Scotchman, all freckles and pepper, warm-hearted, of acute understanding, of Spartan habits, of strangely incongruous tastes and temper.

Aleck could hardly be called a favourite among us, although no one's absence was less welcome. He ruled us roughly in many ways, curtailing extravagances, insisting upon abridgment of pleasure, imposing upon us undeserved moods of acerbity. He was like an ugly, albeit, necessary prop to an unsteady edifice. He tyrannized over us, but we should have gone to ruin without him ; and his nature was honest and kindly. Victor Pontremolly, the youngest of us, was a Sardinian. A feeling of wonder comes over me as I write, that he should ever have been of out* number at all. So fanciful in his theories of life, so girlishly sensitive as to the opinions of others, so ardent in pursuits and tastes diametrically opposed to our own, how was it that we loved him, that he endured us ? I cannot say. He vexed us constantly, and yet our affection for him did not lessen.

Stranger still, we defended his very whims whenever they were elsewhere attacked with ridicule or disrespect. Perhaps the secret of Pontremolly's in fluence over us lay in the fact of his being the only handsome man among several plain ones. His face, A MEDICAL QUARTETTE. 7 for expression and exquisite grace of feature, was the most beautiful I ever saw. His figure had not a fault. On myself alone, Olive Lightfoot, devolved the duty of defending English steaks and politics. I was twenty three ; and being the only son of a country surgeon, who wished me to see the world, I lived idly, aped Bohemian ism, and looked upon Paris as a kind of orange to be sucked and thrown away. Bitter pips, however, must be accepted with sugary pulps. Amid balls, operas, orgies, and amusements of heterogeneous kind, would come, ever and anon, the duty of attending Mademoiselle Josephine's weekly receptions. And they were bores.

Chapter II. Theresine

It was July. Paris was empty. The reign of Boredom had commenced. Sighing, we sauntered from stifling restaurant to empty cafe, from dismal opera to prole tarian play, from insufferable ennui to an amusement that was desperation. We attended Mademoiselle Josephine's Fridays. " I shall amuse myself by inveigling Monsieur Vermeil into whist," said Pontremolly ; " I should like to get up a little quarrel between himself and Mademoiselle Josephine. It might expedite matters too." "And I shall make love to little Euphrosine," put in Laguesse. " Anything seems possible on a day so hot and dusty as this ! " "Lightfoot and I will play dominoes for a franc," said Aleck. " I'm so poor that a few sous would be acceptable." When we entered the apartment of our hostess, a tremendous burst of welcome greeted us.

The artistic and literary gentlemen in shabby coats set down their THERESINE. 9 glasses of sugar -water to congratulate themselves on our appearance. The ladies, most of whom were plump and elderly, clapped their hands, praised our condescension and their own good fortune in' reaping the benefit of it. Mademoiselle Josephine, who, as usual, wore a severely girlish costume of white, smiled a welcome from the piano. Euphrosine flitted from one to the other of us, in her poor little halting way, giving a bon-mot here, a smile there, a word of flattery to all. This kind of reception was a thing of course. No one ever came to spend an evening with Mademoiselle Josephine, who was not its bright particular star. No one ever received a lesser welcome than this, either in form or degree. But some how all seemed changed to night.

The place, the people, the circumstances connecting each, were precisely those that have been made familiar to us by oft-repeated ex perience. Yet we stood still, struck to the heart and the brain by a transfiguration of all, a transfiguration sudden as it was complete, and which for the moment we could only question and admire. I looked once. I looked twice. I looked thrice. The third look sufficed. Apart from every one else — her dress of childish, nay, humble simplicity ; her hair of abounding lustrous amber-colour, knotted carelessly around the shapely head ; her neck and arms bare — sat a young girl apparently about seventeen. Was she beautiful? I hardly knew then. I only knew that the present scene, nay, my whole life, seemed altered by her presence. A joyous bewilderment took possession of me.

My fortune, my future, my fate, seemed centred here. The grave, elderly voice of Laguesse aroused me " Our lines are cast in pleasant places to-night," he said, smiling ; "my flirtation with Euphrosine must wait for another day." Pontremolly laughed joyously as a child who lights upon some new happiness. " What fools the Greeks were ! " he cried. " How could they dream of a Venus before the time ? What a dis tractingly sweet face ! " Aleck knit his hard brows and said nothing. I added my rhapsody to that of the others. We then crowded round Mademoiselle Josephine, soliciting an interview. " An introduction ! " cried the Frenchwoman with a shrill little laugh, "an introduction to my little cousin and pupil, Theresine ! Certainly, Messieurs, certainly ; but she is a mere school-girl, an ingenue at present, and " — she looked at us smiling mischievously, and added with a conscious climax of cruelty in her voice, — " and she does not speak ten words of French !

But Monsieur Pontremolly, being Italian also, can translate THERKSrXE. li yciiii' compliments. Tlieresine, mon enfant, 1 present £u you, MM. McKaye. Laguesse, Ligbtfoot, aud &nntre niolly. Voih't ■ " This speech threw a chill over the H]>uits of all bat Pontrentolly. He eoiild not conceal his triumph, and ■with gpartling eyes and eager lips took the vauant seat beside his youus; coxnUrywoman, The t.wo lnimodiiiti.ly i'tll iuto an easy, animated i.'onversatioii, f*vt'ry word o{ which was lost to iin. It was very hard. To bear tedium is within reach of every one's patience. But to be ushered without warning into a world of enchantment, and without warning to be driven back, is too much. "We were all three thoroughly out of temper, and the worst of it was, were compelled to feign amiability, to play dominoes with obese bachelors and widows, to hang over the piano whilst Mademoiselle Josephine played, to bestow crumbs of courtesy on little restless Euphrosine.

Laguesse joined the domino players. Aleck vented his ill-humour on whist and shabby, easy, M. Figuier. I took up an album and tried in desperation to frame an excuse for withdrawal. Never surely was so dismal an evening ! How trite seemed the witticisms of the men ! How tame the repartee of the women ! Even Mademoiselle Josephine's playing, which was really magnificent, jarred on my ears. And her harmless little coquetries with M. Vernal! roused me into such virtuous indignation! What business had she, an experienced professor of music, and a woman of sense — and forty ! — to wear girlish white, and to feign girlish coyness ? What business had she with pink slippers, and sidelong glances, and stealthy hand pressures ? Then M. Vermeil ! Stout as he was, middle-aged as he was, how could he be such a fool ?

Was it not past endurance that a man of fifty should make juvenile love to a lady of forty ? It seemed to me all affectation, not to say hypocrisy. Whilst she played, he would talk eagerly in undertones to his neighbours, but no sooner was the last chord struck, than his face assumed the most rapturous ex pression of intellectual enjoyment and lover -like approval; he clasped his hands in an abandon of enthusiasm, smiled unutterable things and rhapsodies about "la poesie de la musique et la passion de Vharmonie." To-night everything was folly except my own humours. And all the time, Pontremolly was so foolishly happy ; Theresine had seemed shy to every one else. She was perfectly unembarrassed with him. Then* eyes, lips, brows, beamed and brightened with reciprocated interest. Their voices, both very musical, kept up a duet of con versation.

Then* hands touched when some engravings were under examination. And once, once only, I saw THERESINE. 13 Pontremolly raise the delicate little fingers to his lips, causing her to blush, to tremble, and keep silence for awhile. But in love as we all were with Theresine, grudgingly as we owned to Pontremolly's advantage over us, angry as we felt with ourselves and every other individual in the room, we could hardly feel angry with him. He was so handsome, so much of a woman in his dealings with piques, hostilities, and men's affairs, so utterly unable to see the practical or masculine side of things, that even the rough and ruthless Aleck treated him habitually as one treats pretty women, spoiled children, and petted dogs, never asking and never giving reasons for conduct the most unusual. Moreover, was not Pontremolly using purely legitimate means to obtain the young girl's favour ?

Would his withdrawal have insured a chance to ourselves ? By no means ! Feeling such to be the case, we controlled our ill temper in so far as was possible, and when the evening was over only alluded to its disappointment in a light, jesting way. "I shall learn Italian after the most expeditious system, and then — nous verrons ! " cried Laguesse, as he took down his key from the concierge's frame. " Good night, my friends, and lovely dreams of Theresine to all ! " Pontremolly interrupted him with the impertinence of conscious triumph : " To all ! Well, I ought not to grudge you such poor things as dreams when the Alpha and Omega of reality is mine ! " Aleck looked sour, nodded a good-night and went. Laguesse paused to say in a low voice, — "I wouldn't advise you to plague McKay too much, Pontremolly. He's a good fellow, but " He shrugged his shoulders significantly and left us to puzzle out the unfinished words as best we could.

Chapter III. Love

Pontremolly accompanied me to my room (we had each a chambrette in the same house), evidently seeking a tete-a-tete. We two were ever the best of friends. I never reproved him in words, and my actions could not do so. Wanting alike Laguesse's nicely-balanced judgment and McKay's sturdy perseverance, I lived no moments that divided me from him. He therefore loved because he could not admire me. Throwing himself on the sofa with an expression of face unusual to him, — half-troubled, half-joyful, — he said, — " She is an angel, Lightfoot, and yet I wish that I had never seen her ! " " Never see her again ! " I cried, laughing. " Only teach me Italian, and I will make the most graceful excuse in the world for your absence from Mademoiselle's parties ! " Pontremolly smiled that winning, wayward smile of his, and went on, — "You know, Lightfoot, what strangely fatalistic ideas I entertain about most things.

Laguesse and Aleck both think that they have argued and ridiculed me out of them ; they are mistaken. If I no longer set forth my opinions openly, it is because I for once respect them, and am hurt by sarcasm. You neither set yourself up for a logician nor a satirist — therefore I talk freely to you." I lighted a fresh cigar, and let him go on without interruption. " It is easy enough and pleasant enough to think that every man is the maker or marrer of his own lot. But is it so easy to prove ? Speaking from my personal experience, I have found but few people in whose lives circumstance and not character has had the turn in the scale. Take Aleck for instance. He is shrewd ; self possessed, almost to coldness ; of extraordinary mental capability. Is he free ? Can he say, Here I will love — here I will hate — here I will be my own fate ?

No ! The face of that lovely child seen to-night will influence him against his will. He has done, will do, a thousand things of which his reason cannot approve, for which his foresight could never account." He paused, as if compressing the scattered battalion of his thoughts, and added, — "As the spiritual idea to the material being — as that LOVE. 17 unseen, inevitable power to the new-born aspiring soul — so is the fate of every human entity. Certain as our own existence, co-equal with it — near but once, yet never wholly absent — we might as well try to separate our souls from our bodies as our destiny from our lives. You do not agree with me ? " "By no means ; but I can comprehend your belief." Dropping his voice to a low, tremulous key, parting with each word reluctantly, as if a secret too precious for the guardianship of the air, he said, — "I feel as con vinced that Mademoiselle Josephine's niece is my fate, Lightfoot, as I do of my own existence."

"My good fellow," I answered jestingly, for his new mood had a painful earnestness in it, " every pretty girl becomes our fate by turns. Remember how devoted you were to Adrienne. Remember how I serenaded Blanche " "Wait for the evidence of my statement. It will come — perhaps soon, perhaps late, but surely." " And after all, why should she not be your fate, Pontremolly ? Young, lovely — ye gods ! only grant me such another ! " I was stopped short by a look of reproach in my friend's face, so earnest, so unwonted, and so full of mysterious meaning, that I could but check my ill-timed pleasantry. c " Forgive me," I stammered. " I have vexed you, and yet I hardly know why. I but said what I would willingly have heard from your own lips." " Never mind. Let us sleep now," Pontremolly exclaimed with some irritation.

And we separated. I did not go to bed at once, however. Where is the idle student whose modicum of knowledge has not been gained in the small hours ? I was at that time of life unfortunately possessed by a mania for doing rational things in unreasonable seasons, and after unreasonable fashions. Accordingly, I lighted my lamp and brought out the last new offshoot of French idealistic philosophy, De Vacherot's De la Metaphysique. No sooner had I begun to read than I became conscious of a low, monotonous murmur overhead. The room above mine was tenanted by Aleck, and it struck me as a singular circumstance that, for the first time during an acquaintance of three years, I should discover him to be a night student also. We had often teazed him for his child like habit of falling asleep three minutes after the door of his bed-room was shut, and also for the pertinacity with which, even in Paris, he clung to early hours and morning work.

I listened attentively. The voice was unmistakably his, but subdued fi*om its harsh vivacity to an artificial smoothness strange to hear. LOVE. 19 A whimsical conviction forced itself upon my mind. A smile rose to my lips. Groping my way on tip-toe up the narrow stairs, I was determined to discover in how far such suspicions were correct. At the door I paused to gaze and listen. I was right. There in the small, meagrely lighted room, his gaunt figure bent forward eagerly, his rugged brows contracted with an expression of implacable determination, holding an old copy of Petrarch with iron fingers, sat the Scotch man, trying vainly to imitate the labial articulations of Theresine's native tongue. I drew back and smiled no more. Who could smile at the childishness of so stern a nature ?

Chapter IV. Foreshadowings

Young, indolent, ennuye as we all were at this epoch, it seems little wonder that Theresine's presence should make Mademoiselle Josephine's Friday the turning-point of our existence. With various modifications, however. Which of us imagined himself to be Theresine's most devoted lover, I cannot say. Laguesse declared that her inimitable face and freshness had won him from all past and future loves for ever. I praised ' ' the lightning of the angelic smile," and made a public holocaust of long treasured flowers, love-letters, and small white gloves in her honour. We both set to work, moreover, on the study of Italian with incredible zeal. For a week we gave two hours daily to Dante and grammar, rising early for the sake of extra clearness of brain. We pasted a placard in our httle saloon, on which was inscribed, Qui si parla italiano solo ; we carried a dictionary in one pocket and a book of Italian dialogues in the other, whenever we FORESHADOWINGS. 21 walked out; we persisted in calling om* fat concierge, " Signora," to her infinite disgust, and in repeating the verb amare at least once a day.

All this provoked Aleck excessively, but Pontremolly assisted our endea vours with a good-natured readiness, that in any one else we should have attributed to self-confidence. When the first flush of our enthusiasm was over, we rose at the usual hour, rejoiced the concierge's heart by addressing her as usual, went out with lighter pockets, and contented ourselves with repeating a few complimentary phrases after Pontremolly. We should have considered any one a mortal enemy who doubted our love for the lovely young Italian. We were in no danger of losing our tranquillity of mind, but with Aleck and Pontremolly the matter was serious. The former never mentioned her name ; the latter showed reluctance to mention her in his presence. It was easy to understand how much the somewhat morose, albeit honest nature of the Scotchman, was dazed, magnetized by mere personal beauty, and how much of passion and out giving sympathy knit together these two impressible children of the South.

And there cropped up a hundred daily evidences of a growing dislike between the rivals. Aleck, by a ever-wakeful self-mastery, controlled his feelings. Pontremolly, without any kind of effort, maintained an even suavity of conduct that was unassailable. Yet what hate so easy to fathom, so greatly to dread, as the hate that keeps silence ? I think Aleck felt less cordial towards Laguesse and myself from the very dawn of his passion. Why this should have been I cannot conceive, unless that he disliked us for being witnesses of it. For love had transformed our rough fellowstudent into a would-be dandy, and we could not but notice the 'change. He no longer wore coarse cloth and hob-nail shoes. He suddenly patronized alike tailor, hairdresser, and gantier, till, what with an overweening confidence in his appearance, he became almost ludicrous.

I re spected him too much to laugh, and there is an in herent politeness in French nature which refuses to acknowledge personal absurdity. But even Mademoiselle Josephine and her guests commented openly upon his gifts to her niece. He who had always managed his affairs with a prudence amounting to parsimony, now showed himself lavishly impolite. He never attended a Friday reunion without flowers, bon-bons, or trinkets for Theresine. He seemed unconscious that gifts are only graces from an acceptable giver. Theresine received his presents at first with childlike cordiality, later with maidenly shyness. It soon grew plain to all that she loved Pontremolly — it never grew plain to Aleck. FORESHADO WINGS. 23 She was wondrously lovely and loveable — this Italian child. You never left her presence dwelling on the archness of her brow, the rosy red of her cheeks, the bright entrancing life of her eyes.

You remembered only the combined sweetness and seductiveness of all. And her beauty had so much of freshness and tenderness in it ! She made you feel that life was good, and love a thing to die for. She compelled your caressing mood by her own. We had each been in love once, twice, perhaps thrice before. We owned that we had never really loved before. Whilst, therefore, Aleck and Pontremolly regarded her as an angel, Laguesse and myself were content to adore an ideal. " Lightfoot," said Laguesse to me one evening when we sat alone, "how long is it since you discovered that, were Theresine free to-morrow, you would not demand her hand ? " I stared aghast. "It is true, nevertheless," he went on in his odd, business-like way; " and true with regard to myself also. I love her, or rather — I love her in imagination.