Ch. 3: Alicia's Diary - Page 2

England many many years; that he is a
talented landscape and marine painter, and has exhibited at the Salon,
and I think in London. His style and subjects are considered somewhat
peculiar in Paris--rather English than Continental. I have not as yet
learnt his age, or his condition, married or single. From the tone and
nature of her remarks about him he sometimes seems to be a middle-aged
family man, sometimes quite the reverse. From his nomadic habits I
should say the latter is the most likely. He has travelled and seen a
great deal, she tells me, and knows more about English literature than
she knows herself.

July 21.--Letter from Caroline. Query: Is 'a friend of ours and the
Marlets,' of whom she now anonymously and mysteriously speaks, the same
personage as the 'M. de la Feste' of her former letters? He must be the
same, I think, from his pursuits. If so, whence this sudden change of
tone? . . . I have been lost in thought for at least a quarter of an hour
since writing the preceding sentence. Suppose my dear sister is falling
in love with this young man--there is no longer any doubt about his age;
what a very awkward, risky thing for her! I do hope that my mother has
an eye on these proceedings. But, then, poor mother never sees the drift
of anything: she is in truth less of a mother to Caroline than I am. If
I were there, how jealously I would watch him, and ascertain his designs!

I am of a stronger nature than Caroline. How I have supported her in the
past through her little troubles and great griefs! Is she agitated at
the presence of this, to her, new and strange feeling? But I am assuming
her to be desperately in love, when I have no proof of anything of the
kind. He may be merely a casual friend, of whom I shall hear no more.

July 24.--Then he is a bachelor, as I suspected. 'If M. de la Feste ever
marries he will,' etc. So she writes. They are getting into close
quarters, obviously. Also, 'Something to keep my hair smooth, which M.
de la Feste told me he had found useful for the tips of his moustache.'
Very naively related this; and with how much unconsciousness of the
intimacy between them that the remark reveals! But my mother--what can
she be doing? Does she know of this? And if so, why does she not allude
to it in her letters to my father? . . . I have been to look at
Caroline's pony, in obedience to her reiterated request that I would not
miss a day in seeing that she was well cared for. Anxious as Caroline
was about this pony of hers before starting, she now never mentioned the
poor animal once in her letters. The image of her pet suffers from
displacement.

August 3.--Caroline's forgetfulness of her pony has naturally enough
extended to me, her sister. It is ten days since she