Douglas van Tuiver did believe in it; it was
his religion, the only one he had. (Churchman as he was, his church
was a part of the social routine.) He was proud of Sylvia, and
apparently satisfied when he could take her at his side; and Sylvia
went, because she was his wife, and that was what wives were for.
She had tried her best to be happy; she had told herself that she
_was_ happy yet all the time realizing that a woman who is really
happy does not have to tell herself.
Earlier in life she had quaffed and enjoyed the wine of applause. I
recollect vividly her telling me of the lure her beauty had been to
her--the most terrible temptation that could come to a woman. "I
walk into a brilliant room, and I feel the thrill of admiration that
goes through the crowd. I have a sudden sense of my own physical
perfection--a glow all over me! I draw a deep breath--I feel a surge
of exaltation. I say, 'I am victorious--I can command! I have this
supreme crown of womanly grace--I am all-powerful with it--the world
is mine!'"
As she spoke the rapture was in her voice, and I looked at her--and
yes, she was beautiful! The supreme crown was hers!
"I see other beautiful women," she went on--and swift anger came
into her voice.
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