“But the only person who had come was Boris Grogoff. He loved Nina from the first moment, in his own careless, conceited, opinionated way.”
“Why did you let him come so often to the house if you didn’t approve of him?” I asked.
“How could I prevent it?” she asked me. “We Russians are not like the English. In England I know you just shut the door and say, ‘Not at home.’
“Here if anyone wanted to come he comes. Very often we hate him for coming, but still there it is. It is too much trouble to turn him out, besides it wouldn’t be kind—and anyway they wouldn’t go. You can be as rude as you like here and nobody cares. For a long while Nina paid no attention to Boris. She doesn’t like him. She will never like him, I’m sure. But now, these last weeks, I’ve begun to be afraid. In some way, he has power over her—not much power, but a little—and she is so young, so ignorant—she knows nothing.
“Until lately she always told me everything. Now she tells me nothing. She’s strange with me; angry for nothing. Then sorry and sweet again—then suddenly angry. … She’s excited and wild, going out all the time, but unhappy too. … I know she’s unhappy. I can feel it as though it were myself.”
“You’re imagining things,” I said. “Now when the war’s reached this period we’re all nervous and overstrung. The atmosphere of this town is enough to make anyone fancy that they see anything. Nina’s all right.”
“I’m losing her! I’m losing her!” Vera cried, suddenly stretching out her hand as though in a gesture of appeal. “She must stay with me. I don’t know what’s happening to her. Ah, and I’m so lonely without her!”
There was silence between us for a little, and then she went on.
“Durdles, I did wrong to marry Nicholas—wrong to Nina, wrong to Nicholas, wrong to myself, I thought it was right. I didn’t love Nicholas—I never loved him and I never pretended to. He knew that I did not. But I thought then that I was above love, that knowledge was what mattered. Ideas—saving the world—and he had such ideas! Wonderful! There was, I thought, nothing that he would not be able to do if only he were helped enough. He wanted help in every way. He was such a child, so unhappy, so lonely, I thought that I could give him everything that he needed. Don’t fancy that I thought that I sacrificed myself. I felt that I was the luckiest girl in all the world—and still, now when I see that he is not strong enough for his ideas I care for him as I did then, and I would never let any trouble touch him if I could help it. But if—if—”
She paused, turned away from me, looking towards the window.
“If, after all, I was wrong. If, after all, I was meant to love. If love were to come now … real love … now. …”
She broke off, suddenly stood up, and very low, almost whispering, said:
“I have fancied lately that it might come. And then, what should I do? Oh, what should I do? With Nicholas and Nina and all the trouble there is now in the world—and Russia—I’m afraid of myself—and ashamed. …”
I could not speak. I was utterly astonished. Could it be Bohun of whom she was speaking? No, I saw at once that the idea was ludicrous. But if not—.
I took her hand.
“Vera,” I said. “Believe me. I’m much older than you, and I know. Love’s always selfish, always cruel to others, always means trouble, sorrow, and disappointment. But it’s worth it, even when it brings complete disaster. Life isn’t life without it.”
I felt her hand tremble in mine.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I know nothing of it, except my love for Nina. It isn’t that now there’s anybody. Don’t think that. There is no one—no one. Only my self-confidence is gone. I can’t see clearly any more. My duty is to Nina and Nicholas. And if they are happy nothing else matters—nothing. And I’m afraid that I’m going to do them harm.”
She paused as though she were listening. “There’s no one there, is there?” she asked me—“there by the door?”
“No—no one.”
“There are so many noises in this house. Don’t they disturb you?”
“I don’t think of them now. I’m used to them—and in fact I like them.”
She went on: “It’s Uncle Alexei of course. He comes to see us nearly every day. He’s very pleasant, more pleasant than he has ever been before, but he has a dreadful effect on Nicholas—”
“I know the effect he can have,” I said.
“I know that Nicholas has been feeling for a long time that his inventions are no use. He will never own it to me or to anyone—but I can tell. I know it so well. The war came and his new feeling about Russia carried him along. He put everything into that. Now that has failed him, and he despises himself for having expected it to do otherwise. He’s raging about, trying to find something that he can believe in, and Uncle Alexei knows that and plays on that. … He teases him; he drives him wild and then makes him happy again. He can do anything with him he pleases. He always could. But now he has some plan. I used to think that he simply laughed at people because it amused him to see how weak they can be. But now there’s more than that. He’s been hurt himself at last, and that has hurt his pride, and he wants to hurt back. … It’s all in the dark. The war’s in the dark … everything. …” Then she
