He came up just then, limping, on his crutches.
We turned along the terrace, and walked on, slowly.
‘You know, Helen,’ he said, ‘I can’t think what she sees in me . . . I must seem such a dull old buffer to her . . . especially now. I wish you could see her dance! You know, Helen,’ he said again, ‘she reminds me sometimes of you, when you used to dance . . . and I can’t dance with her!’
I thought:
‘What can I say?’
I was very sorry for Guy.
I said:
‘She is very good tempered, and she even laughs at herself. . . .’
Guy said:
‘You don’t much like her, and I don’t think Mother does, but you will when you know her better, I feel quite sure of that.’