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Also, the Intelligentsia 209
feels somehow that she is ever just out of sight around the corner. One never feels that one is seeing her entirely. There is ever something pleasantly, alluringly missing, as there is always in the case of women who are truly "acting artists."
There was a good deal more in this strain. Widely quoted, it made quite a stir. Later — as much as a year, perhaps — Nathan being a bachelor (about the only one the intelligentsia could muster) , it was reported from time to time that he was to be married to Miss Gish; then, that they were already married, privately, reports that have been recurrent, or intermittent, or something, ever since. But Nathan was a bachelor, apparently without much intention of becoming anything else, while Lillian was far too occupied for domesticity, the kind of domesticity she saw about her. She was satisfied with her circle as it stood — a circle which included individualities: rudehanded old Dreiser, for instance, and Mencken, and Sinclair Lewis, and Clarence Darrow. No Madame Recamier ever had a more loyal following, ever accepted it with such gratitude. And never a thing they said or did wrought a change in her, touched that vanity which is a mortal possession, but is hardly her possession, because, as I suspect, she is not altogether mortal, but a visitant — a dryad, likely enough, who has strayed in from the Old Time and is only puzzled a little, and saddened, maybe, by what she finds here.