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enthusiasts and scientific dreamers are all very well in their way, but
they almost always take far more than they give in the mart of friendship.
The old professor had preceded my father to his grave.
Our father left us comfortably off. The house was our own, and property
yielding a comfortable income was divided equally between us. Our home
seemed desolate indeed without our father, and very gloomily did the first
months of his absence pass; but in time hope and youth reasserted
themselves and we gradually settled down to much our old way of life.
Caroline obtained several engagements and was still studying
enthusiastically. Raymond passed most of his time at the hospital, where
he had rooms, though he frequently came home; I was the only one who had
not a definite occupation. I read a great deal and wrote a little also,
chiefly studies on historical subjects which interested me, but I had
printed nothing. In fact I had never been in the way of the literary
world, and did not know how to set about it. Time used often to hang
rather heavily on my hands in the big house where I was generally alone. I
was the housekeeper, but such cares did not take up much of my time. The
result of so much solitude and lack of occupation was that I became
restless and dissatisfied. Mere reading without any definite object did
not and could not suffice me; to write when there seemed no prospect of
ever being read, and keenly alive as I was to my own deficiencies, did not
attract me; friends I might say I had none, for the few people my father
knew were interested in him and not in us children, and ceased to frequent
our house after his death.
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