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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
195
On
the
way,
we
were
both
bitterly
disappointed
at
a
dramatic
meeting
between
a
man
and
woman
of
the
artizan
class
which
instead
of
beginning
with
a
stormy,
"Robert,
where's
the
rent,
may
I
ask?"
fizzled
out
into,
"Hullo,
Charlie,
why
you
are
a
stranger."
At
tea
in
the
A.B.C.
shop,
we
had
a
violent
discussion
on
Socialism,
and
on
the
station
platform,
going
home,
I
said
that
before
marriage
I
intended
saving
up
against
the
possibility
of
divorce--a
domestic
divorce
fund.
"Very
dreadful,"
said
R----
with
mock
gravity,
"to
hear
a
recently
affianced
young
man
talk
like
that."
...
What
should
I
do
then?
Marry?
I
suppose
so.
Shadows
of
the
prison-house.
At
first
I
said
I
ought
not
to
marry
for
two
years.
Then
when
I
am
wildly
excited
with
her
I
say
"next
week."
We
could.
There
are
no
arrangements
to
be
made.
All
her
furniture--flat,
etc.
But
I
feel
we
ought
to
wait
until
the
War
is
over.
At
dinner-time
to-night
I
was
feverish
to
do
three
things
at
once:
write
out
my
day's
Journal,
eat
my
food,
and
read
the
Journal
of
Marie
Bashkirtseff.
Did
all
three--but
unfortunately
not
at
once,
so
that
when
I
was
occupied
with
one
I
would
surreptitiously
cast
a
glance
sideways
at
the
other--and
repined.
After
dinner,
paid
a
visit
to
the
----
and
found
Mrs.
----
playing
Patience.
I
told
her
that
12,000
lives
had
been
lost
in
the
great
Italian
earthquake.
Still
going
on
dealing
out
the
cards,
she
said
in
her
gentle
voice
that
that
was
dreadful
and
still
absorbed
in
her
cards
inquired
if
earthquakes
had
aught
to
do
with
the
weather.
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