He bowed politely, and slipping the ends of his fingers into either trouser-pocket, he stood defiantly before her, with his unshod feet set well apart.
'And you, Brenda ... I have never met anyone in any way like you.'
But she had no intention—this independent little person—of being led away thus from the original question.
'Sometimes I almost dislike you ... and at other moments I admire your character very much.'
She was quite grave, and looked up at him anxiously, as if the character of some third person very near and dear to them both were under discussion.
'When do you dislike me?' he asked in his monotonous, gentle way.
To this she made no answer for some moments, but sat looking thoughtfully across the deep-bosomed water, which was now almost glassy, for the breeze had dropped with the setting sun. She was frowning slightly, and leant her chin upon her hand, which action gave additional thoughtfulness to her well-read face. She might have been solving some great problem. Indeed, she was attempting to find an explanation to the greatest problem we have to solve. This foolish little maiden, with all her great and mistaken learning, her small experience and deep, searching mind, was trying to explain human nature. Not in its entirety, but one small insignificant example taken from the whole. She was trying to reduce this man to an orderly classification of motives, desires, and actions; and he stood defying her to do so. She wanted to understand Theo Trist. In faith, she did not ask for much! An educated and refined gentleman, an experienced and time-hardened man. A philosopher without a creed. A soldier without a sword. A soft heart that sought bloodshed. Brenda had undertaken a very large task. She might have begun upon the simplest, most open-hearted sailor-man in the forecastle, and yet I am sure that she would have failed. With Theo Trist she could do nothing. Does any one of us understand his brother, his sister, his mother or his wife? Scarcely, I think. This only I know, that I have never yet quite understood any human being. There are some—indeed, there are many—whom I have been pleased to consider as an open book before my discerning gaze, but Time has changed all that. He has proved that I knew remarkably little about the printed matter in that open book.
Trist repeated his question:
'When do you dislike me, Brenda?'
Her reply was somewhat indirect.