d too new to be true。 This is like the conflict of the Superior Man of Confucius to control himself； it is like the Christian battle of the spirit with the flesh； it savours of that eternal wrangle between the general and the particular which is metaphysics； it was for this aristocratic self； for righteousness' sake； that men have hungered and thirsted； and on this point men have left father and mother and child and wife and followed after salvation。 This world…wide； ever… returning antagonism has filled the world in every age with hermits and lamas； recluses and teachers； devoted and segregated lives。 It is a perpetual effort to get above the simplicity of barbarism。 Whenever men have emerged from the primitive barbarism of the farm and the tribe； then straightway there has emerged this conception of a specialized life a little lifted off the earth； often； for the sake of freedom； celibate； usually disciplined； sometimes directed； having a generalized aim； beyond personal successes and bodily desires。 So it is that the philosopher； the scientifically concentrated man； has appeared； often； I admit； quite ridiculously at first； setting out upon the long journey that will end only when the philosopher is king。 。 。 。 〃At first I called my Second Limitation； Sex。 But from the outset I meant more than mere sexual desire； lust and lustful imaginings； more than personal reactions to beauty and spirited living； more even than what is called love。 On the one hand I had in minsee now that this Second Limitation as I first imagined it spreads out without any definite boundary； to include one's rivalries with old schoolfellows； for example； one's generosities to beggars and dependents； one's desire to avenge an injured friend； one's point of honour； one's regard for the good opinion of an aunt and one's concern for the health of a pet cat。 All these things may enrich； but they may also impede and limit the aristocratic scheme。 I thought for a time I would call this ill…defined and miscellaneous wilderness of limitation the Personal Life。 But at last I have decided to divide this vast territory of difficulties into two subdivisions and make one of these Indulgence； meaning thereby pleasurable indulgence of sense or feeling； and the other a great mass of self…regarding motives that will go with a little stretching under the heading of Jealousy。 I admit motives are continually playing across the boundary of these two divisions； I should find it difficult to argue a case for my classification； but in practice these two groupings have a quite definite meaning for me。 There is pride in the latter group of impulses and not in the former； the former are always a little apologetic。 Fear； Indulgence； Jealousy； these are the First Three Limitations of the soul of man。 And the greatest of these is Jealousy； because it can use pride。 Over them the Life Aristocratic； as I ous idea。 And it resignsso many things that no common Man of Spirit will resign。 Its intention transcends these things。 Over all the world it would maintain justice； order； a noble peace； and it would do this without indignation； without resentment； without mawkish tenderness or individualized enthusiasm or any queen of beauty。 It is of a cold austere quality； commanding sometimes admiration but having small hold upon the affections of men。 So that it is among its foremost distinctions that its heart is steeled。 。 。 。〃 There this odd fragment ended and White was left to resume the interrupted autobiography。
2
What moods； what passions； what nights of despair and gathering storms of anger； what sudden cruelties and amazing tendernesses are buried and hidden and implied in every love story！ What a waste is there of exquisite things！ So each spring sees a million glorious beginnings； a sunlit heaven in every opening leaf； warm perfection in every stirring egg； hope and fear and beauty beyond computation in every forest tree； and in the autumn before the snows come they have all gone； of all that incalculable abundance of life； of all that hope and adventure； excitement and deliciousness； there is scarcely more to be found than a soiled twig； a dirty seed； a dead leaf； black mould or a rotting feather。 。 。 。 White held the ten or twelve pencilled pages that told how Benham and Amanda drifted into antagonism and estrangement and as he held it he thought of the laughter and delight they must have had together； the exquisite excitements of her eye； the racing colour of her cheek； the gleams of light upon her skin； the flashes of wit between them； the sense of discovery； the high rare paths they had followed； the pools in which they had swum together。 And now it was all gone into nothingness； there was nothing left of it； nothing at all； but just those sheets of statement； and it may be； stored away in one single mind； like things forgotten in an attic； a few neglected faded memories。 。 。 。 And even those few sheets of statement were more than most love leaves behind it。 For a time White would not read them。 They lay neglected on his knee as he sat back in Benham's most comfortable chair and enjoyed an entirely beautiful melancholy。 White too had seen and mourned the spring。 Indeed； poor dear！ he had seen and mourned several springs。 。 。 。 With a sigh he took up the manuscript and read Benham's desiccated story of intellectual estrangement； and how in the end he had decided to leave his wife and go out alone upon that journey of inquiry he had been planning when first he met her。
3
Amanda had come back to England in a state of extravagantly vigorous womanhood。 Benham's illness； though it lasted only two or three weeks； gave her a sense of power and leadership for which she had been struggling instinctively ever since they came together。 For a time at Locarno he was lax…minded and indolent； and in that time she formed her bright and limited plans for London。 Benham had no plans as yet but only a sense of divergence； as though he was being pulled in opposite directions by two irresistible forces。 To her it was plain that he needed occupation； some distinguished occupation； and she could imagine nothing better for him than a political career。 She perceived he had personality； that he stood out among men so that his very silences were effective。 She loved him immensely； and she had tremendous ambitions for him and through him。 And also London； the very thought of London； filled her with appetite。 Her soul thirsted for London。 It was like some enormous juicy fruit waiting for her pretty white teeth； a place almost large enough to give her avidity the sense of enough。 She felt it waiting for her； household； servants； a carriage； shops and the jolly delight of buying and possessing things； the opera； first…nights； picture exhibitions； great dinner…parties； brilliant lunch parties； crowds seen from a point of vantage； the carriage in a long string of fine carriages with the lamplit multitude peering； Amanda in a thousand bright settings； in a thousand various dresses。 She had had love； it had been glorious； it was still glorious； but her love… making became now at times almost perfunctory in the contemplation of these approaching delights and splendours and excitements。 She knew； indeed； that ideas were at work in Benham's head； but she was a realist。 She did not see why ideas should stand in the way of a career。 Ideas are a brightness； the good looks of the mind。 One talks ideas； but THE THING THAT IS； IS THE THING THAT IS。 And though she believed that Benham had a certain strength of character of his own； she had that sort of confidence in his love for her and in the power of her endearments that has in it the assurance of a faint contempt。 She had mingled pride and sense in the glorious realization of the power over him that her wit and beauty gave her。 She had held him faint with her divinity； intoxicated with the pride of her complete possession； and she did not dream that the moment when he should see clearly that she could deliberately use these ultimate delights to rule and influence him； would be the end of their splendour and her power。 Her nature； which was just a nest of vigorous appetites； was incapable of suspecting his gathering disillusionment until it burst upon her。 Now with her attention set upon London ahead he could observe her。 In the beginning he had never seemed to be observing her at all； they dazzled one another； it seemed extraordinary now to him to note how much he had been able to disregard。 There were countless times still when he would have dropped his observation and resumed that mutual exaltation very gladly； but always now other things possessed her mind。 。 。 。 There was still an immense pleasure for him in her vigour； there was something delightful in her pounce； even when she was pouncing on things superficial； vulgar or destructive。 She made him understand and share the excitement of a big night at the opera； the glitter and prettiness of a smart restaurant； the clustering little acute adventures of a great reception of gay people； just as she had already made him understand and sympathize with dogs。 She picked up the art world where he had laid it down； and she forced him to feel dense and slow before he rebelled against her multitudinous enthusiasms and admirations。 South Harting had had its little group of artistic people； it is not one of your sleepy villages； and she slipped back at once into the movement。 Those were the great days of John； the days before the Post Impressionist outbreak。 John； Orpen； Tonks； she bought them with vigour。 Artistic circles began to revolve about her。 Very rapidly she was in possession。 。 。 。 And among other desirable things she had； it seemed； pounced upon and captured Lady Marayne。 At any rate it was clear that that awful hostile silence and aloofness was to end。 Benham never quite mastered how it was done。 But Amanda had gone in one morning to Desborough Street； very sweetly and chastely dressed； had abased herself and announced a possible （though subsequently disproved） grandchild。 And she had appreciated the little lady so highly and openly； she had so instantly caught and reproduced her tone； that her success； though only temporary in its completeness； was immediate。 In the afte