“Yes—once or twice. He just sits there and never opens his mouth.”
“Very wise of him if he hasn’t got anything to say.”
“No, but really—do you think so? It doesn’t make him popular.”
“Why, who doesn’t like him?”
“Nobody,” answered Henry ungrammatically. “None of the English anyway. They can’t stand him at the Embassy or the Mission. They say he’s fearfully stuck-up and thinks about nothing but himself.... I don’t agree, of course—all the same, he might make himself more agreeable to people.”
“What nonsense!” I answered hotly. “Lawrence is one of the best fellows that ever breathed. The Markovitches don’t dislike him, do they?”
“No, he’s quite different with them. Vera Michailovna likes him I know.”
It was the first time that he had mentioned her name to me. He turned towards me now, his face crimson. “I say—that’s really what I came to talk about, Durward. I care for her madly!... I’d die for her. I would really. I love her, Durward. I see now I’ve never loved anybody before.”
“Well, what will you do about it?”
“Do about it?... Why nothing, of course. It’s all perfectly hopeless. In the first place, there’s Markovitch.”