Page:The Blind Bow-Boy (IA blindbowboy00vanv).pdf/173

 father must believe that he is a prig. Harold is by no means a prig. He is a boy with fine instincts, who has been compelled by circumstances, as I see it, to lead a secluded life. Paul's way of living, and mine, do not suit him at all, and I think he must be very unhappy. He is not, however, as dependent upon fate as Paul. Harold is still young; some day he will assert himself. Indeed, even while I am writing these words, it has occurred to me that it may be his father's grim intention to develop the boy's character in this ruthless fashion so that he will assert himself the sooner. How, where, or when, I have no idea. But this is one of the reasons I have no wish to leave New York. I cannot afford to miss the scène à faire.

There are, I have discovered, and I insert the discovery parenthetically for what it may be worth, two kinds of people in this world, those who long to be understood, and those who long to be misunderstood. It is the irony of life that neither is gratified.

I am perfectly frank with you, dear Laura, always; there seems to be no other reason for writing long letters. You know that I seek my thrills in a curious, vicarious way. You know that what befalls others is of more interest to me than what befalls myself. Indeed, you must be aware by now that I do not care to have anything happen to me at all. If I can prevent it, things never do happen to me, and I can prevent it. I have even arranged it so that I do not suffer physical pain when it is inconvenient for me.

This is a very long letter about matters in which you will, conceivably, take only a vague interest, but I am clearing my mind for the day, revealing myself to myself, revolving my ideas so that I may the more fully enjoy them.