“I was beginning to be fond of you!” she said. “Yes, I was! I don’t mind telling you now. I thought you delightfully clever—and you seemed kind—and I was quite proud that you liked my companionship. That was at first, you know! But afterwards when you were rude—and when you said unkind things you need never have said—well!—then I began to think about you in a different way. I loved your little eccentricities and grumpishness—but that sort of thing can be carried too far sometimes!—and bitter words never sweeten friendship. You were harsh and cynical—Jack was always tender and gentle—and though Jack is not clever and you are!—dreadfully clever!—I felt that love is better than all the cleverness in the world!” She paused,—there was a dewy sparkle as of tears in her eyes. “You see how it happened?” she went on again. “I should hardly have loved Jack so much if I had not contrasted him with you! Do you understand?”
The Philosopher gave a resigned gesture.
“I understand!” he said. “I over-filled the bowl! And of course the pipe doesn’t ‘draw.’ Well, well! I must accept my fate,—the inevitable result of the strange humours of women! Could anything be more fantastic than your beginning to care for me ‘at first’ and then starting to care for young Durham ‘at second’ because I failed to come up to your standard of good temper and mild manners! Merciful Providence!” The Philosopher shot out this exclamation like a dart from an air-gun. “Who can fathom the mysterious pools of the feminine mind! Child, do you want perfection in a man? If you do you won’t get it!—make no mistake about that!”
“I don’t want perfection,” she answered mildly, her rosy underlip quivering just a little. “I never thought of such a thing! But I do want—kindness!”
She turned her face away quickly lest he should see the tears in her eyes which now brimmed over and fell. He was silent a moment, then—
“Kindness? Kindness can be overdone. It then becomes mawkish sentimentality. Like politeness, it can be a bore. The man who is always bowing and saying ‘Pardon me!’ is the very chap who’ll give you a good deal to pardon him for in the long run. It’s the same thing with kindness—if you are always kind to people you’ll find them always cruel—it’s the necessity of contrast. You can’t say I have ever been really unkind to you—now can you?”
She hesitated.
“You’ve been rough—and rude!” she murmured, at last.
“Granted! Well, what then?”
She peeped timidly at him.