“That’s what one wants,” he continued. “One wants tenderness, fidelity, pretty grace, quaintness, and, above all, worship. Katya could give me companionship; but wouldn’t Pauline have given me worship?”
“But still ...” Mrs. Langham commenced.
“Oh, I know,” Grimshaw interrupted, “there’s nothing in her, but still....”
“But still,” Mrs. Langham mocked him, “dear old Toto, you do want to talk about her. Let’s take another little turn; I can give you five minutes more.”
She beckoned to her car to come in at the gates and follow them along the side-walk past the tall barracks in the direction of Kensington.
“Yes, I dearly want to talk about Pauline,” Grimshaw said, and his cousin laughed out the words:
“Oh, you strong, silent men! Don’t you know you are called a strong, silent man? I remember how you used to talk to Katya and me about all the others before you got engaged to Katya. When I come to think of it, the others were all little doll-things like Pauline Leicester. Katya used to say: ‘There’s nothing in them!’ She used to say it in private to me. It tore her heart to shreds, you know. I couldn’t understand how you came to turn from them to her, but I know you did and I know you do....
“You haven’t changed a bit, Toto,” she began again. “You play at being serious and reserved and mysterious and full of knowledge, but you’re still the kiddie in knickerbockers who used to have his pockets full of chocolate creams for the gardener’s mite of a daughter. I remember I used to see you watching her skip. You’d stand for minutes at a time and just devour her with your eyes—a little tot of a thing. And then you’d throw her the chocolate creams out of the window. You were twelve and I was nine and Katya was seven and the gardener’s daughter was six, but what an odd boy I used to think you!”
“That’s precisely it,” Grimshaw said. “That’s what I want in Pauline. I don’t want to touch her. I want to watch her going through the lancers with that little mouth just open, and the little hand just holding out her skirt, and a little, tender expression of joy. Don’t you see—just to watch her? She’s a small, light bird. I want to have her in a cage, to chirrup over her, to whistle to her, to give her grapes, and to have her peep up at me and worship me. No, I haven’t changed. When I was that boy it didn’t occur to me that I could have Katya; we were like brother and sister, so I wanted to watch little Millie Neil. Now I know I might have Katya and I can’t, so I want to watch Pauline Leicester. I want to; I want to; I want to.”
His tones were perfectly level and tranquil; he used no gesture; his eyes remained upon the sand of the rolled side-walk, but his absolutely monotonous voice expressed a longing so deep, and so deep a hunger that Ellida Langham said: