The Well of Loneliness

They soon settled down to their more prosaic days very much as quite ordinary people will do. Each of them now had her separate tasks -- Stephen her writing, and Mary the household, the paying of bills, the filing of receipts, the answering of unimportant letters. But for her there were long hours of idleness, since Pauline and Pierre were almost too perfect -- they would smile and manage the house their own way, which it must be admitted was better than Mary's. As for the letters, there were not very many; and as for the bills, there was plenty of money -- being spared the struggle to make two ends meet, she was also deprived of the innocent pleasure of scheming to provide little happy surprises, little extra comforts for the person she loved, which in youth can add a real zest to existence. Then Stephen had found her typing too slow, so was sending the work to a woman in Passy; obsessed by a longing to finish her book, she would tolerate neither let nor hindrance. And because of their curious isolation, there were times when Mary would feel very lonely. For whom did she know? She had no friends in Paris except the kind Mademoiselle Duphot and Julie. Once a week, it is true, she could go and see Buisson, for Stephen continued to keep up her fencing; and occasionally Brockett would come strolling in, but his interest was centred entirely in Stephen; if she should be working, as was often the case, he would not waste very much time over Mary.

Stephen often called her into the study, comforted by the girl's loving presence. "Come and sit with me, sweetheart, I like you in here. " But quite soon she would seem to forget all about her. "What. what? " she would mutter, frowning a little. "Don't speak to me just for a minute, Mary. Go and have your luncheon, there's a good child; I'll come when I've finished this bit -- you go on! " But Mary's meal might be eaten alone; for meals had become an annoyance to Stephen.