“I never think of Capri but I see it in the light of a magnificent sunrise.  Beloved, sacred island, where the morning of my life indeed began!  No spot in all the earth has beauty like yours; no name of any place sounds to me as yours does!”

“I know that our life cannot always be what it is now.  This is a long honeymoon; we do not walk on the paths that are trodden by ordinary mortals; the sky above us is not the same that others see as they go about their day’s business or pleasure.  By what process shall we fall to the common existence?  We have all our wants provided for; there is no need for my husband to work that he may earn money, no need for me to take anxious thought about expenses; so that we are tempted to believe that life will always be the same.  That cannot be; I am not so idle as to hope it.

“He certainly has powers which should be put to use.  We have talked much of things that he might possibly do, and I am sure that before long his mind will hit the right path.  I am so greedy of happiness that even what we enjoy does not suffice me; I want my husband to distinguish himself among men, that I may glory in his honour.  Yesterday he told me that my own abilities exceeded his, and that I was more likely to make use of them; but in this case my ambition takes a humble form.  Even if I were sure that I could, say, write a good book, I would infinitely prefer him to do it and receive the reward of it.  I like him to say such things, but in fact he must be more than I. Do I need a justification of the love I bear him?  Surely not; that would be a contradiction of love.  But it is true that I would gladly have him justify to others my belief in his superiority.

“And yet—­why not be content with what is well?  If he could remain so; but will he?  We have a long life before us, and I know that it cannot be all honeymoon.”

“I have been reading a French novel that has made me angry—­in spite of my better sense.  Of course, it is not the first book of the kind that I have read, but it comes home to me now.  What right has this author to say that no man was ever absolutely faithful?  It is a commonplace, but how can any one have evidence enough to justify such a statement?  I shall not speak of it to Reuben, for I don’t care to think long about it.  Does that mean, I wonder, that I am afraid to think of it?

“Well, f had rather have been taught to read and think about everything, than be foolishly ignorant as so many women are.  This French author would laugh at my confidence, but I could laugh back at his narrow cynicism.  He knows nothing of love in its highest sense.  I am firm in my optimism, which has a very different base from that of ignorance.

“This does not concern me; I won’t occupy my mind with it; I won’t read any more of the cynics.  My husband loves me, and I believe his love incapable of receiving a soil.  If ever I cease to believe that, time enough then to be miserable and to fight out the problem.”