The Wings of Icarus： Being the Life of one Emilia Fletcher
Letter 26
Laurence Alma-Tadema
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_ LETTER XXVI
GRAYSMILL, February 7th.
So it's all settled. You are very good to me, my pretty Constance. Now I say to myself hourly, "In sixteen days I shall see her," and oh, believe me, I am glad! I think I am beginning to lose my head, that I am fit for all folly. We walked together yesterday; we were not very talkative. In the lane, when we were coming home, a man on a bicycle turned sharply round the corner, and I was lost in thought, so that I was caught unawares, and in fact knew nothing of the matter until I felt myself pulled aside by Gabriel. I thought he would let go my arm, but he did not, and for the few yards of road that remained I could not see out of my eyes. I said to myself, "He is holding my arm,--perhaps he loves me." I was a fool; of course, it meant nothing; and I am certain, too, that it was imagination on my part led me to believe he looked differently at me when he said good-bye.
That is what frightens me. Of course, it was pure self-delusion; but, if I am going to begin that sort of folly, it is high time to come away. Indeed, the folly of it. Besides, I suppose I ought to feel ashamed. I am sure he knows now quite well that I love him, and perhaps that is why he looked strangely at me when he said good-bye. But I don't want his pity; O God forbid! Nor his, nor anybody's. Do you hear? Never pity me, Constance.
Your little
EMILIA. _