We lived in a round of visits for some time after our return home,
giving splendid dinner-parties, and making a sensation in our
neighbourhood by the new lustre of our equipage, for my father had
reserved this display of his increased wealth for the period of his
son's marriage; and we gave our acquaintances liberal opportunity for
remarking that it was a pity I made so poor a figure as an heir and a
bridegroom. The nervous fatigue of this existence, the insincerities
and platitudes which I had to live through twice over--through my inner
and outward sense--would have been maddening to me, if I had not had
that sort of intoxicated callousness which came from the delights of a
first passion. A bride and bridegroom, surrounded by all the appliances
of wealth, hurried through the day by the whirl of society, filling
their solitary moments with hastily-snatched caresses, are prepared
for their future life together as the novice is prepared for the
cloister--by experiencing its utmost contrast.
Through all these crowded excited months, Bertha's inward self remained
shrouded from me, and I still read her thoughts only through the
language of her lips and demeanour: I had still the human interest of
wondering whether what I did and said pleased her, of longing to hear
a word of affection, of giving a delicious exaggeration of meaning to
her smile. But I was conscious of a growing difference in her manner
towards me; sometimes strong enough to be called haughty coldness,
cutting and chilling me as the hail had done that came across the
sunshine on our marriage morning; sometimes only perceptible in the
dexterous avoidance of a _tete-a-tete_ walk or dinner to which I had
been looking forward. I had been deeply pained by this--had even felt
a sort of crushing of the heart, from the sense that my brief day of
happiness was near its setting; but still I remained dependent on
Bertha, eager for the last rays of a bliss that would soon be gone for
ever, hoping and watching for some after-glow more beautiful from the
impending night.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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