Ideala | Page 3

cow, and still excel them all, for they never thrill to a
noble thought."
"Then, pity them," I said.
"No, despise them," she answered. "Pity is for affliction, for such
shortcomings as are hereditary and can hardly be remedied--for the
taint in nature which is all but hopeless. But these people are not
afflicted. They could do better if they would. They know the higher
walk, and deliberately pursue the lower. Their whole feeling is for
themselves, and such things as have power to move them through the
flesh only. I would almost rather sin on the impulse of a generous but
misguided nature, and have the power to appreciate and the will to be
better, than live a perfect, loveless woman, caring only for myself, like

these. I should do more good."
They called Ideala unsympathetic, yet I have known her silent from
excess of sympathy. She could walk with you, reading your heart and
soul, sorrowing and rejoicing with you, and make you feel without a
word that she did so. It was this power to sympathise, and the longing
she had to find good in everything, that made her forgive the faults that
were patent in a nature with which she was finally brought into contact,
for the sake of the virtues which she discovered hidden away deep
down under a slowly hardening crust of that kind of self- indulgence
which mars a man.
But her own life was set to a tune that admitted of endless variations.
Sometimes it was difficult even for those who knew her best to detect
the original melody among the clashing cords that concealed it; but, let
it be hidden as it might, one felt that it would resolve itself eventually,
through many a jarring modulation and startling cadence, perhaps, back
to the perfect key.
I saw her first at a garden party. She scarcely noticed me when we were
introduced. There were great masses of white cloud drifting up over the
blue above the garden, and she was wholly occupied with them when
she could watch them without rudeness to those about her; and even
when she was obliged to look away, I could see that she was still
thinking of the sky. "Do you live much in cloudland?" I asked, and felt
for a moment I had said a silly thing; but she turned to me quickly, and
looked at me for the first time as if she saw me--and when I say she
looked at me, I mean something more than an ordinary look, for
Ideala's eyes were a wonder, affecting you as a poem does which has
power to exalt.
"Ah, you feel it too," she said. "Are they not beautiful? Will you sit
beside me here? You can see the river as well--down there, beneath the
trees."
I thought she would have talked after that, but she did not. When I
spoke to her once or twice she answered absently; and presently she
forgot me altogether, and began to sing to herself softly:

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver; No more
by thee my steps shall be For ever and for ever.
Then suddenly recollecting herself, she stopped, and exclaimed, in
much confusion, "O please forgive me! That stupid thing has been
running in my head all day--and it is a way I have. I always forget
people and begin to sing."
She did not see in the least that her apology might have been
considered an adding of insult to injury, and, of course, I was careful
not to let her know that I thought it so, although I must confess that for
a moment I felt just a trifle aggrieved. I thought my presence had bored
her, and was surprised to see, when I got up to go, that she would rather
have had me stay.
She cared little for people in general, and had few likings. It was love
with her if anything; but those whom she loved once she loved always,
never changing in her affection for them, however badly they might
treat her. And she had the power of liking people for themselves,
regardless of their feeling for her; indeed, her indifference on this score
was curious. I once heard a lady say to her: "You are one of the few
young married ladies whom I dare chaperon in these degenerate days.
No degree of admiration or worship ever seems to touch you. Is it real
or pretended, your unconsciousness?"
"Unconsciousness of what?"
"Of the feeling you excite."
"The feeling I excite?" Ideala seemed to think a moment; then she
answered gravely: "I do not think I am conscious of anything that
relates to myself, personally, in my intercourse with people. They are
ideas to me for the