Even through the drizzling rain he could see the gleam of her rich
hair, the marking of her lovely face, and the carmine of her lips. She
motioned to him to go on. He went, and when he had traversed a hundred
paces looked round once more. She was still there, but now her face was
a blur, and again the great white gull hovered about her head.
Then the mist swept up and hid her.
Ah, Beatrice, with all your brains you could never learn those simple
principles necessary to the happiness of woman; principles inherited
through a thousand generations of savage and semi-civilized
ancestresses. To accept the situation and the master that situation
brings with it--this is the golden rule of well-being. Not to put out
the hand of your affection further than you can draw it back, this is
another, at least not until you are quite sure that its object is well
within your grasp. If by misfortune, or the anger of the Fates, you
are endowed with those deeper qualities, those extreme capacities of
self-sacrificing affection, such as ruined your happiness, Beatrice,
keep them in stock; do not expose them to the world.
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