somebody, and them care about me.â
âTo fall in love, in fact.â
Sylvia nodded.
âI suppose so. Is that sloppiness?â
âNo,â said Quarrendon again. He stopped, as if to think carefully, and then said again: âNo. Itâs just nature, isnât it?â
âIâm glad you think itâs all right,â said Sylvia gravely.
âQuite all right. May I ask you something?â
âOh yes. Anything you like.â
She was surprised, that he shouldnât know that.
âDid you ever think of any special kind of love? I meanâit wasnât that you very much wanted children, for instance?â
âNo,â said Sylvia. âIâd like to have children, quite, but not at all specially. No, it wasnât that.â
âI think I understand.â
She had never doubted it.
âI take it,â said Quarrendon, âthat you never have been in love?â
âNo, never. And you seeâthis is really the pointâI sometimes wonder if I ever shall be.â
She hesitated.
âSomeoneâa manâonce told me that I was
completely
frigid,â said Sylvia in a low, ashamed voice.
She looked at Quarrendon.
His face had not altered. He was still gazing out, through the thick lenses of his spectacles, in the direction of the poppies.
âItâs nice of you not to laugh, orâor despise me or anything,â she said humbly.
âWhy should I? In the first place, Iâm honoured by your confidence, and in the second, what youâve just told me is quite serious. Not because itâs trueâwhich of course it isnâtâbut becauseyou evidently believe it to be true.â
âI thought it might be. You see, he kissed me, at a dance, and I simply hated it. He was quite nice, reallyâIâd liked him, till then.â
âBut you werenât in love with him.â
âOh good heavens, no. And he wasnât, with me.â
âThen, if I may say so, he was a cad, as well as being a conceited fool, to kiss you. What right had he to expect you to tolerate itâlet alone like it?â
âGirls do,â suggested Sylvia. âAt least, they always say they do. Itâs supposed to be a sort of compliment.â
This time Quarrendon did turn round and look full at her.
She had the curious feeling that he could communicate his thought to her without speaking it aloud.
âDo you mean that they just pretend to themselves they like it, because they think theyâre being modern, or grown-up or something?â He nodded.
âBut some really do.â
âSome, yes. But not people like you.â
âNothing to do with my being frigid?â
âNothing. That was just the young man, pretending. It was naturally more soothing to his vanity to see you as frigid than himself as unattractive.â
They both laughed.
âHow easy it is to talk to you!â cried Sylvia.
âIs it? You donât mind my being so very much older than you are?â
âOh
no.
Why should I?â
âI donât know. But itâs thought to make a difference. As regards sharing the same point of view, I suppose. I donât quite see why it should, though.â
âNeither do I. Do you think it doesâin our case?â
He shook his head.
âNo. Iâve had more experience than you, because Iâve lived longer, thatâs all. I think that fundamentally we probably see things the same way. Thatâs why
I
like talking to
you,
too.â
Sylvia lifted radiant eyes to his.
âItâs marvellous, for me.â
âThen weâre friends, Sylvia?â
âOh yes, Andrew.â
He lightly placed his hand over hers for a moment.
(3)
Quarrendon had for years been the victim of his own susceptibility.
Very few women attracted him, but with the ones that did, he usually fell very deeply in love. These affairs interfered with his work, perturbed him