“I wonder,” she said slowly, “I wonder what there is in me to attract you, Jim! You are not like other men. You would not care for appearances only, yet, apart from my face and figure—my poor figure of which I was so proud—there is nothing left which could really please you. I have been a vain, empty-headed girl all my life. I cared for myself more than anything on earth. I do now! You think I am brave and uncomplaining, but it is all a sham. I am too proud to whine, but in reality I am seething with bitterness and rebellion. I am longing to get well, not to lead a self-sacrificing life like Rachel Greaves, but to feel fit again, and wear pretty clothes, and dance, and flirt, and be admired—that’s what I want most, Jim; that’s all I want!”
He put out his hands and took hers. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did, though Maud was still staring out of the window, and I was still staring at Maud.
“Poor darling!” he said huskily. “Poor darling!”
He didn’t preach a bit, though it was a splendid opening if he had wanted one, but I think the sorrow and regret in his voice was better than words. Vere knew what he meant, and why he was sorry. I heard a little gasping sound, and then a rapid, broken whispering.
“I know—I know! I ought to feel differently! Sometimes in the night—oh, the long, long nights, Jim!—the pain is so bad, and it seems as if light would never come, and I lie awake staring into the darkness, and a fear comes over me... I feel all alone in a new world that is strange and terrible, where the things I cared for most don’t matter at all, and the things I neglected take up all the room. And I’m frightened, Jim! I’m frightened! I’ve lost my footing, and it’s all blackness and confusion. Is it because I am so wicked that I am afraid to be alone with my thoughts? I was so well and strong before this. I slept so soundly that I never seemed to have time to think.”
“Perhaps that’s the reason of it, sweetheart. You needed the time, and it has been given to you this way, and when you have found yourself the need will be over, and you will be well again.”
“Found myself!” she repeated musingly. “Is there a real self that I know nothing of hidden away somewhere? That must be the self you care for, Jim. Tell me! I want to know—what is there in me which made you care so much? You acknowledge that I am vain?”
“Y–es!”
“And selfish?”
He wouldn’t say “Yes,” and couldn’t deny it, so just sat silently and refused to answer.