Marie Corelli’s Love—and the philosopher, published in 1923, pits the “Philosopher”, an apparent cynic imbued with fin-de-siècle pessimism, against the “Sentimentalist”, the bright, young, pretty daughter of a wealthy old man with whom the Philosopher is collaborating on a book about the deterioration of language. Romance is the terminus ad quem. But who attains it? From the foreword:
The following story is of the simplest character, purposely so designed. It has no “abnormal” or “neurotic” episodes; no “problems”
and no “psycho-analysis”. Its “sentiment” is of an ordinary, every-day type, common to quiet English homes where the “sensational” press find no admittance, and where a girl may live her life as innocent of evil as a rose;—where even the most selfish of cynical “philosophers” may gradually evolve something better than self. There are no “thrills”, no “brain storms”, no “doubtful moralities”—no unnatural overstrained “emotionalisms” whatever.