Nellie’s hand still rested, now with pressure, on his shoulder.
“And what if Silvia put herself, so to speak, in your father’s place?” she said. “What if it occurred to her that you had been charming with her, and clever with her? Mind, that’s only a guess.”
Again Peter thrust the logs together.
“She trusts me too much,” he said at length, “She loves me too much.”
This time Nellie was silent.
“Well?” said he at length.
“She thinks you’ve been clever with her and charming with her,” she said. “That’s it. I think that she was quite wrong in keeping this news from you, but that’s why. Silvia isn’t like us, you must remember. We may be complicated and clever in our way, but she’s not like that. There’s something tremendous about Silvia. A simplicity, a splendour.”
“And just when I was beginning to realize that, to adore it, she does this. I can’t forgive it,” said he.
She felt then, as perhaps never before, the charm of his egoism: it really was such a charming fellow he was egoistic about.
“My dear, it’s just because you, as you say, are beginning to realize that and to adore it, that you feel you can’t forgive it. You would forgive it easily enough if you didn’t care. But put yourself in her place. Assume, as I feel sure we’re right in assuming, that we have got at the reason for her not telling you; it is exactly what a woman of that simplicity and splendour would do. With all there is of her, she loves you.”