2018-11-29

"I had no illusions about you," he said. "I knew you were silly and frivolous and empty-headed.

But I loved you. I knew that your aims and ideals were vulgar and commonplace. But I loved

you. I knew that you were second-rate. But I loved you. It's comic when I think how hard I tried

to be amused by the things that amused you and how anxious I was to hide from you that I wasn't

ignorant and vulgar and scandal-mongering and stupid. I knew how frightened you were of

intelligence and I did everything I could to make you think me as big a fool as the rest of the men

you knew. I knew that you'd only married me for convenience. I loved you so much, I didn't care.

Most people, as far as I can see, when they're in love with someone and the love isn't returned

feel that they have a grievance. They grow angry and bitter. I wasn't like that. I never expected

you to love me, I didn't see any reason that you should, I never thought myself very lovable. I

was thankful to be allowed to love you and I was enraptured when now and then I thought you

were pleased with me or when I noticed in your eyes a gleam of good-humoured affection. I tried not to bore you with my love; I knew I couldn't afford to do that and I was always on the lookout

for the first sign that you were impatient with my affection. What most husbands expect as a

right I was prepared to receive as a favour."