to black moods, and would not speak to her for hours sometimes, but she seemed content to walk with me and was infinitely patient.  I had heard she was living with—­if not married to—­an actor.  I asked her about him once, and she said she did not love him; she loved me and had never loved before.  Her face had a touching sadness; her life had been unhappy and stormy, with no love and little rest in it.  Her face, when she had lost her dissipated look and unhealthy pallor, was exquisite, delicate as a cameo.  Love had improved her manners, too; she was more gentle and refined.  I let things drift without thinking of the future, when one night after the performance—­I was lying on the sofa and A. was sitting at my side, as usual—­I suddenly thought, with the brutality that characterized me in these matters—­“I will ask her to let me sleep with her.”  I still fought against any premonitory thought of self-abuse, but here, I thought to myself, is a chance of something better that will do me no harm and perhaps good.  When she understood me she turned very red and walked away, shaking her head.  But I let her understand that was the only way of retaining me, and finally, when they had all gone to bed, she gave herself to me, reluctantly and sadly; for she, too, had been drifting on without thinking of anything of this sort (she hated it at this time), but just living for her love of me, her first true love.

Before this occurred, I must tell you, I had been so much better that I sometimes felt capable of doing anything, a sense of power and grasp of intellect which was combined with delicacy of feeling and sensitiveness to beauty, to skies and clouds and flowers.  I seemed to be awakening to true manhood, to my true self.  And at meals, it is worth recording, I commenced to have a distaste for meat.

These glimpses of a better state of things left me on cohabiting with A., and for a time my gloom and black religious mania came on me once more.  I now thought of my promise at confirmation, and it seemed to me I had offended beyond pardon.  When we came to the next town, however, I openly slept with A. all night, leaving my own bed untouched.  When we returned to Adelaide one of our party remarked:  “The only man who had any success with the women on the tour was a Bible-reading, praying, and good, pious, confirmed Christian.”

A.’s nascent beauty and delicacy and improvement were gradually impaired, too.  My own conduct became so morose at times that, besides increasing her misery, I offended the others, and bickerings ensued.  I heard the other actress say “He’s mad; that what’s the matter.”  And I was so wrapped up in myself and my religious mania that I did not mind their thinking so.

After the tour was over A. asked me to come and see her at her home, and as I missed her very much I went one night to tea.  She had a room in her father’s house to herself.