" But the intellectual resolve was one thing, the moral
aptitude another. He did not enjoy; how many hours in all his life
had brought him real enjoyment? Idle to repeat and repeat that life
was the passing minute, which must be seized, made the most of; he
could not live in the present; life was to him for ever a thing
postponed. "I will live--I will enjoy--some day!" As likely as
not that day would never dawn.
Was it true, as admonishing reason sometimes whispered, that
happiness cometh not by observation, that the only true content is
in the moments which we pass without self-consciousness? Is all
attainment followed by disillusion? A man aware of his health is on
the verge of malady. Were he to possess his desire, to exclaim, "I
am happy," would the Fates chastise his presumption?
That way lay asceticism, which his soul abhorred. On, rather,
following the great illusion, if this it were! "The crown of life"
--philosophise as he might, that word had still its meaning, still
its inspiration. Let the present pass untasted; he preferred his
dream of a day to come.
Next morning, very unexpectedly, he received a note from Mrs.
Borisoff inviting him to dine with her a few days hence. About her
company she said nothing, and Piers went, uncertain whether it was a
dinner _tete-a-tete_ or with other guests. When he entered the room,
the first face he beheld was Irene's.
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