". . . When I first saw Derek I thought I should never feel anything but shy and hopeless. In four days, only in four days, the whole world is different. . . . And yet, if it hadn't been for that thunder-storm, I shouldn't have got over being shy in time.
He has never loved anybody--nor have I. It can't often be like that--it makes it solemn. There's a picture somewhere--not a good one, I know--of a young Highlander being taken away by soldiers from his sweetheart. Derek is fiery and wild and shy and proud and dark--like the man in that picture. That last day along the hills--along and along--with the wind in our faces, I could have walked forever; and then Joyfields at the end! Their mother's wonderful;
I'm afraid of her. But Uncle Tod is a perfect dear. I never saw any one before who noticed so many things that I didn't, and nothing that I did. I am sure he has in him what Mr. Cuthcott said we were all losing--the love of simple, natural conditions. And then, THE moment, when I stood with Derek at the end of the orchard, to say good-by. The field below covered with those moony-white flowers, and the cows all dark and sleepy; the holy feeling down there was wonderful, and in the branches over our heads, too, and the velvety, starry sky, and the dewiness against one's face, and the great, broad silence--it was all worshipping something, and I was worshipping--worshipping happiness. I WAS happy, and I think HE was. Perhaps I shall never be so happy again. When he kissed me I didn't think the whole world had so much happiness in it. I know now that I'm not cold a bit; I used to think I was. I believe I could go with him anywhere, and do anything he wanted. What would Dad think? Only the other day I was saying I wanted to know everything. One only knows through love. It's love that makes the world all beautiful--makes it like those pictures that seem to be wrapped in gold, makes it like a dream--no, not like a dream--like a wonderful tune. I suppose that's glamour--a goldeny, misty, lovely feeling, as if my soul were wandering about with his--not in my body at all. I want it to go on and on wandering--oh! I don't want it back in my body, all hard and inquisitive and aching! I shall never know anything so lovely as loving him and being loved.
I don't want anything more--nothing! Stay with me, please--Happiness! Don't go away and leave me! . . . They frighten me, though; he frightens me--their idealism; wanting to do great things, and fight for justice. If only I'd been brought up more like that--but everything's been so different. It's their mother, I think, even more than themselves. I seem to have grown up just looking on at life as at a show; watching it, thinking about it, trying to understand--not living it at all. I must get over that;
I will. I believe I can tell the very moment I began to love him.
It was in the schoolroom the second evening. Sheila and I were sitting there just before dinner, and he came, in a rage, looking splendid. 'That footman put out everything just as if I were a baby--asked me for suspenders to fasten on my socks; hung the things on a chair in order, as if I couldn't find out for myself what to put on first; turned the tongues of my shoes out!--curled them over!' Then Derek looked at me and said: 'Do they do that for you?--And poor old Gaunt, who's sixty-six and lame, has three shillings a week to buy him everything. Just think of that! If we had the pluck of flies--' And he clenched his fists. But Sheila got up, looked hard at me, and said: 'That'll do, Derek.' Then he put his hand on my arm and said: 'It's only Cousin Nedda!' I began to love him then; and I believe he saw it, because I couldn't take my eyes away. But it was when Sheila sang 'The Red Sarafan,' after dinner, that I knew for certain. 'The Red Sarafan'--it's a wonderful song, all space and yearning, and yet such calm--it's the song of the soul; and he was looking at me while she sang. How can he love me? I am nothing--no good for anything! Alan calls him a 'run-up kid, all legs and wings.' Sometimes I hate Alan; he's conventional and stodgy--the funny thing is that he admires Sheila.
