“He told me that you were one of the very few people he could imagine having who wouldn’t disturb him,” said Toppie. “He said you were the most peaceful person.”
“Did he? I am so glad. I like so very much being there— Toppie,” she found herself saying quite suddenly, “Giles is the kindest person in the world.”
Toppie looked at her. “Have you only just found that out?”
“No, I knew it the first time I saw him, I think. But he is more than that,” said Alix, feeling the inadequacy of the word. “He is good. Because he understands. Some people are only good because they do not understand. You know what I mean?”
“Perfectly,” Toppie nodded, grave and gentle. “You see things more clearly than most people, Alix. That is one of the reasons I am so fond of you.”
“I don’t see them as clearly as Giles does. Giles would see everything and never fail. It is his courage. The more there was to see, the more there was to bear, the more he would be standing there beside you.” It was strange to her, as she spoke, to feel how deeply she knew all this about Giles, though she had never before formulated it to herself. And she added: “And never would he ask for anything for himself, Toppie.”
Toppie considered her, arrested, it was evident; perhaps a little surprised. “Have you and Giles talked a great deal? Dear Giles. All that you say is true.”
“No; we have talked very little.”
Toppie continued to observe her. “You can’t talk too much with him,” she said after a little silence. “You can’t see too much of him. He’s a rock, Alix, and you can build on him.”
“You, too, can build on him, Toppie,” said Alix at this. Something changed in Toppie’s look at that. It was withdrawal rather than reproof that Alix felt as Toppie said: “I have built on Giles for years. We have known each other for a very long time, you see, Alix.”