I felt that she was quivering all over, and she looked so ridiculously young, with her trembling lip and blue hat on one side and burning cheeks, that I felt that I wanted to take her into my arms and kiss and pet her.
“I saw that you had your hand on his knee,” I said. “That was silly of you, Nina.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” she answered furiously. “Why shouldn’t I enjoy life like every one else? Why should Vera, have everything?”
“Vera!” I cried. “What has it to do with Vera?”
She didn’t answer my question. She put her hand on my arm, pressing close up to me as though she wanted my protection.
“Durdles, I want him for my friend. I do—I do. When I look at him and think of Boris and the others I don’t want to speak to any one of them again. I only want him for my friend. I’m getting old now, and they can’t treat me as a child any longer. I’ll show them. I know what I’ll do if I can’t have the friends I want and if Vera is always managing me—I’ll go off to Boris.”
“My dear Nina,” I said, “you mustn’t do that. You don’t care for him.”
“No, I know I don’t—but I will go if everybody thinks me a baby. And Durdles—Durdles, please—make him like me—your Mr. Lawrence.”
She said his name with the funniest little accent.
“Nina, dear,” I said, “will you take a little piece of advice from me?”