Part 5 (1/2)
”Am I what?”
”Dying to know etcetera, etcetera--I am not addicted to vain repet.i.tion.”
She sighed, tried to pick a black crimson Victor Hugo, p.r.i.c.ked her fingers and said ”d.a.m.n!” With my penknife I cut the stalk and handed her the rose, which she pinned on her blouse.
”I suppose I am,” she eventually replied. Then she caught me by the arm.
”Look here, Tony, do be a dear. You're old enough to be my ancestor and by all accounts you've had a dreadful past. Do tell me if I'm making an a.s.s of myself. I only did it once,” she went on, without giving me time to answer.
”You know all about it--Vanucci, the little beast. I needn't put on frills with you. Since then I swore off that sort of thing. I've gone about in maiden meditation and man's breeches, fancy free. I've loved lots of men just as I've loved lots of women--as friends, comrades. I'm level-headed and, I think, level-hearted. I haven't gone about like David in his wrath, saying that all men are liars. They're not. They're just as good as women, if not better. I've no betrayed virgin's grouch against men. But I've made myself too busy to worry about s.e.x. It's no use talking tosh. s.e.x is the root of the whole sentimental, maudlin----”
”But tremulous and bewildering and nerve-racking and delicious and myriad-adjectived soul-condition,” I interrupted, ”known generally as love.
Ninety-nine point nine repeater per cent of the world's literature has been devoted to its a.n.a.lysis. It's therefore of some importance. It's even the vital principle of the continuity of the human race.”
”I'm perfectly aware of it.”
”Then why, my dear, resent, as you seem to do, the inevitable rea.s.sertion, in your own case, of the vital principle?”
She laughed. ”_Cha.s.sez le naturel, il revient au galop_. But that's just it. Is it a gallop or is it a crawl? I tell you, I thought myself immune for many years. But now, these last two or three days I'm beginning to feel a perfect idiot. A few minutes ago if the whole lot of you hadn't been standing round, I think I should have cried. Just for silly gladness.
After all there are thousands of Brigadier-Generals.”
”To be accurate, not more than a few hundreds.”
”Hundreds or thousands, what does it matter?” she cried impatiently.
”What's Hecuba to me or I to Hecuba?” Few women have the literary sense of apposite quotation--but no matter. She went on. ”What's one Brigadier-General to me or I to one Brigadier-General? And yet--there it is. I'm beginning to fear lest this particular Brigadier-General may mean a lot to me. So I come back to my original question. Am I making an a.s.s of myself?”
”One can't answer that question, my dear Auriol,” said I, ”without knowing how far your fears, feelings and all the rest of it are reciprocated.”
”Suppose I think they are?”
”Then all I can say is: 'G.o.d bless you my children.' But,” I added, after a pause, ”I must warn you that your budding idyll is not pa.s.sing unnoticed.”
She snapped her fingers. ”I've lived my private life in public too long to care a hang for that. I'm only concerned about my own course of action.
Shall I go on, or shall I pull myself up with a jerk?”
”What would you like to do?”
She walked on for a few yards without replying. I glanced at her and saw that the colour had come into her cheeks, and that her eyes were downcast.
At last she said:
”Now that I'm a woman again, I should like to get some happiness out of it.
I should like to give happiness, too, full-handed.” She flashed up and took my arm and pressed it. ”I could do it, Tony.”
”I know you could,” said I.
After which the conversation became more intimate. Anybody, to look at us, as we walked, arm in arm, round the paths of the rose garden, would have taken us for lovers. Of course she wanted none of my advice. Her frank and generous nature felt the imperious need of expansion. I, to whom she could talk as to a sympathetic wooden idol, happened to be handy. I don't think she could have talked in the same way to a woman, I don't think she would have talked so even to me, who had taken her pick-a-back round about her nursery, if I had not with conviction qualified Lackaday as a gallant gentleman.