How her heart leapt into her throat when he began, at once, in his quiet soft voice,
“Well, Nina dear, tell me all about it. I know, so you needn’t be frightened. I know and I understand.”
She flung a terrified glance around her, but Uncle Ivan was reading the paper at the other end of the room, her brother-in-law was cutting up little pieces of wood in his workshop, and Vera was in the kitchen.
“What do you mean?” she said in a whisper. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do,” he answered, smiling at her. “You know, Nina, you’re in love with the Englishman, and have been for a long time. Well, why not? Don’t be so frightened about it. It is quite time that you should be in love with someone, and he’s a fine strong young man—not over-blessed with brains, but you can supply that part of it. No, I think it’s a very good match. I like it. Believe me, I’m your friend, Nina.” He put his hand on hers.
He looked so kind, she told me afterwards, that she felt as though she had never known him before; her eyes were filled with tears, so overwhelming a relief was it to find someone at last who sympathised and understood and wanted her to succeed. I remember that she was wearing that day a thin black velvet necklet with a very small diamond in front of it. She had been given it by Uncle Ivan on her last birthday, and instead of making her look grown-up it gave her a ridiculously childish appearance as though she had stolen into Vera’s bedroom and dressed up in her things. Then, with her fair tousled hair and large blue eyes, open as a rule with a startled expression as though she had only just awakened into an astonishingly exciting world, she was altogether as unprotected and as guileless and as honest as any human being alive. I don’t know whether Semyonov felt her innocence and youth—I expect he considered very little beside the plans that he had then in view … and innocence had never been very interesting to him. He spoke to her just as a kind, wise, thoughtful uncle ought to speak to a niece caught up into her first love-affair. From the moment of that half-hour’s conversation in the window Nina adored him, and believed every word that came from his mouth.
“You see, Nina dear,” he went on, “I’ve not spoken to you before because you neither liked me nor trusted me. Quite rightly you listened to what others said about me—”
“Oh no,” interrupted Nina. “I never listen to anybody.”
“Well then,” said Semyonov, “we’ll say that you were very naturally influenced by them. And quite right—perfectly right. You were only a girl then—you are a woman now. I had nothing to say to you then—now I can help you, give you a little advice perhaps—”
I don’t know what Nina replied. She was breathlessly pleased and excited.
“What I want,” he went on, “is the happiness of you all. I was sorry when I came back to find that Nicholas and Vera weren’t such friends as they used to be. I don’t mean that there’s anything wrong at all, but they must be brought closer together—and that’s what you and I, who know them and love them, can do—”
“Yes, yes,” said Nina eagerly. Semyonov then explained that the thing that really was, it seemed to him, keeping them apart were Nicholas’s inventions. Of course Vera had long ago seen that these inventions were never going to come to anything, that they were simply wasting Nicholas’s time when he might, by taking an honest clerkship or something of the kind, be maintaining the whole household, and the very thought of him sitting in his workshop irritated her. The thing to do, Semyonov explained, was to laugh Nicholas out of his inventions, to show him that it was selfish nonsense his pursuing them, to persuade him to make an honest living.
“But I thought,” said Nina, “you approved of them. I heard you only the other day telling him that it was a good idea, and that he must go on—”
“Ah!” said Semyonov. “That was my weakness, I’m afraid. I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. But it was wrong of me—and I knew it at the time.”
Now Nina had always rather admired her brother-in-law’s inventions. She had thought it very clever of him to think of such things, and she had wondered why other people did not applaud him more.
Now suddenly she saw that it was very selfish of him to go on with these things when they never brought in a penny, and Vera had to do all the drudgery. She was suddenly indignant with him. In how clear a light her uncle placed things!
“One thing to do,” said Semyonov, “is to laugh at him about them. Not very much, not unkindly, but enough to make him see the folly of it.”
“I think he does see that already, poor Nicholas,” said Nina with wisdom beyond her years.
“To bring Nicholas and Vera together,” said Semyonov, “that’s what we have to do, you and I. And believe me, dear Nina, I on my side will do all I can to help you. We are friends, aren’t we?—not only uncle and niece.”
“Yes,” said Nina breathlessly. That was all that there was to the conversation, but it was quite enough to make Nina feel as though she had already won her heart’s desire. If anyone as clever as her uncle believed in this, then it must be true. It had not been only her own silly imagination—Lawrence cared for her. Her uncle had seen it, otherwise he would never have encouraged her—Lawrence cared for her. …
Suddenly, in the happy spontaneity of the moment she did what she very seldom did, bent forward and kissed him.
She told me afterwards that that kiss seemed to displease him.
He got up and walked away.
VII
I do
