She swayed for a while between these two magnetic points: Edward’s intellectuality and Bunny’s manifest need for being looked after; but if the one’s self-sufficiency sometimes repelled her the other’s comparative vacuity of mind no less tried her patience. With such an alternative, perhaps her womanhood would have urged her irresistibly towards Bunny, in spite of discouraging precedent, had not that youth remained unaware of her claim to be anything more exciting (and that was exciting enough, no doubt) than Hypatia’s friend.
‘If only he had Edward’s brains as well as his own niceness,’ Sheila said to herself; and humour compelled her to add, self-scornfully: ‘Well, what if he had? He’d perhaps be even more indifferent to me than he is now.’ And that would have been hard; for his absorption in Hypatia was so complete that he could even sing her praises in little solitary interviews with Sheila contrived for that very purpose.
‘Don’t you think she’s very clever?’ he said one day, incredulous of a hint of criticism.
‘I know she’s got wonderful brains,’ Sheila assured him. ‘But at present I believe they’re under a cloud. That sounds horribly dogmatic, I expect. But I really think Hypatia’s a little bit of a fanatic nowadays.’
He rebelled against that. ‘She’s an enthusiast, if you like.’
Sheila smiled. ‘Perhaps that’s all. I suppose fanaticism’s only the name we give to the other person’s enthusiasm.’
‘I must say she often puzzles me,’ admitted Bunny. ‘You know her very well, don’t you?’
‘Not so well as you do, I expect.’
‘Oh, but you were at school with her,’ he urged.
‘That’s five, six, seven years ago.’