Barty was saying to himself, distractedly: "What'll I say to her? What'll I talk to her about?" with each repetition winding himself, like a cocoon, deeper in webs of shyness.
Christian's social perceptions were hypersensitive, and the cris de coeur of her suffering companion were only too audible to her spiritual ear. At eighteen, the quality of mercy has seldom developed; the young demand mercy, they expect to receive, not to bestow it; but in this girl was something that made her different from her fellows. It was as though a soul more tempered, more instructed, more subtle and refined, had been given to her, than is vouchsafed to the majority of the poor creatures who are sent into this difficult world with an equipment that rarely meets its demands.
This is a long-winded way of saying that Christian realised that she had to restore confidence in Larry's young friend, and that she proceeded forthwith to do so. She would have laughed at the thought that anyone could be afraid of her, but she felt instinctively that a soothing monologue, a sort of cradle-song, was what the occasion demanded; so she began to speak of the bluebells, the woods, the weather, saying with a sort of languid simplicity, the things that the moment suggested; "babbling," as she subsequently assured Judith, "of green fields," until she had so lulled and bored him, that in self-defence he produced an observation.
"D'you read, Miss Christian?" said Barty, bringing forth his mouse with an abrupt and mountainous effort.
Christian repressed the reply that she had possessed the accomplishment for some years, and asked for further information.
"Poetry," said Barty, largely; "it's—it's the only reading I care for. I thought you might like it—" he added, hurriedly, and was again wrapped in the cocoon.
"Oh, I do, very much," said Christian, trying hard not to quench the smoking flax; "I've learnt quantities by heart, and Larry is always lending me new books of poetry. He says that you and he discuss it together."
"I never knew one like him!" said Barty, with sudden energy. "There's no subject at all that he's not interested in!" In the heat of his enthusiasm for Larry, the cocoon wrappings were temporarily shrivelled. He turned his dark short-sighted eyes on Christian, and took up his parable with excitement.
"Did he tell you he's learning Irish? I'll engage it'll be no trouble to him!"
"He's always getting hold of new ideas," said Christian; "I wish I could learn Irish."