"You've got a very tender little heart, haven't you?" I said.
"It isn't half as tender as Viola's. But I've got more common sense."
"Then why," I said, "did you laugh at Jimmy just now?"
"That's why. Because it was the best thing you could do. He doesn't mind it half so much when you laugh at him. It's people looking down their noses, like Charlie, that he minds. It must be awful for the poor little chap, when you come to think of it, living on the edge, never knowing when he's going to do something that'll make Viola's blood run cold."
"It must be still more awful for Viola."
To that she said, "It isn't. You don't know how Viola feels about Jimmy.
None of my people do. They simply don't understand it."
"Oh, come," I said, "they've accepted it, haven't they?"
"They've accepted it because they don't understand her. They say they never know what she'll do next, and Jimmy's come as a sort of relief to them. They thought she might do something much worse. You see, she isn't a bit like any of us. If she wants to do a thing she'll do it, no matter what it is. She wanted to go to Bruges with Jimmy and look at the Belfry, and she did it like a shot. What they can't see is that she'll never want to do anything wrong, so she'll never do it. They can't see that there was just as much Belfry as Jimmy in it. There always will be a Belfry in Viola's life, and when she hears the bells going she'll run off to see. And Jimmy's the only man who'll ever take her to a Belfry.
"She's all right. Because she knows that Jimmy's really ten times more refined than any of us. His little soul's all made of beautiful clean white silk. But Viola can't go on telling people how beautiful he is. They've got to see it for themselves.
"I wish you could see it as she does. I wish you could see how she feels about it—"