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me, and I was afraid of him and did not want to have anything
to do with him. I told Lennart everything; he was so kind
and sympathetic and understood me, and I thought he was the
most wonderful man in the world—and so he is, I know.
“But I did something awful. Lennart cannot understand
it, and I know that he has not forgiven me. Perhaps I am
wrong in telling you, but I must ask somebody if it is really
so that a man can never forgive it, and you must answer me
frankly—tell me if you think that it is impossible ever to get
over it.
“We went to Rocca di Papa in the afternoon when we were
married. You know how dreadfully afraid I have always been
of marriage, and when Lennart took me into our room in the
evening, I began to cry. Lennart was such a dear to me.
“This was on a Saturday. We did not have a particularly
pleasant time—I mean Lennart did not, for I would have been
delighted to be married like that, and every morning when I
awoke I was so grateful to him, but I was scarcely allowed to
kiss my husband.
“On the Wednesday we had gone to the top of Monte Cavo,
and it was marvellously beautiful up there. It was in the end
of May and the day was glorious. The chestnut wood was
light green, the leaves had just come out, the broom was
blossoming madly in the crevices, and along the road grew heaps
of white flowers and lilies. There was a haze in the air, for it
had rained earlier in the day, and the Nemi and Albano lakes
were lying silvery white below, with all the little white villages
round. The whole Campagna and Rome were wrapped in a
thin veil of mist, and farther out the Mediterranean shone like
a golden line on the horizon.
“Oh, it was such a day! And life seemed wonderfully
beautiful to me—but Lennart was sad. To me he was the most
perfect man in the world, and I was immensely fond of him.
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