(How stark and almost indecent it looks written down like that!) At forty, one is supposed to have got over all youthful fancies and disappointments, and lately it has seemed to me reasonable to contemplate a common-sense marriage.

A politician, wise, honoured, powerful--and sixty.

What could be more suitable?
So suitable that I ran away--an absurdly young thing to do at forty--and I am writing to you in the train on my way to Scotland....

You see, Biddy, I quite suddenly saw myself growing old, saw all the arid years in front of me, and saw that it was a very dreadful thing to grow old caring only for the things of time.

It frightened me badly.