She looked at me with a sudden passing tenderness in her eyes. "Yes, all
things, Hubert. All things. But we mustn't talk of that--though I begin
to see my way clearer now. You shall be rewarded for your constancy
at last, dear knight-errant. As to my chaperon, I'm not afraid of her
boring me; she bores herself, poor lady; one can see that, just to look
at her; but she will be much less bored if she has us two to travel
with. What she needs is constant companionship, bright talk, excitement.
She has come away from London, where she swims with the crowd; she has
no resources of her own, no work, no head, no interests. Accustomed to a
whirl of foolish gaieties, she wearies her small brain; thrown back upon
herself, she bores herself at once, because she has nothing interesting
to tell herself. She absolutely requires somebody else to interest her.
She can't even amuse herself with a book for three minutes together.
See, she has a yellow-backed French novel now, and she is only able to
read five lines at a time; then she gets tired and glances about her
listlessly. What she wants is someone gay, laid on, to divert her all
the time from her own inanity.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303