‘Yes, I do like her, quite, but we haven’t an awful lot in common.
I don’t think I am intellectual enough for her.’
Hugo ignored that. He said:
‘I should like you to be kind to her, Mollie is awfully kind
to her, and she is very grateful to Mollie, but’—and he paused
a moment—‘Mollie isn’t you.’
‘I don’t see what I can do for her that you and Mollie can’t
do much better. What do you want me to do?’ Hugo fidgeted with
the jade box on the chimney-piece.
‘Oh, I don’t know exactly—anything just to show her you like
her. She minds about her clothes. Couldn’t you advise her about
her clothes? She admires yours so much.’
And then I was angry. I wanted to say, ‘I am damned if I will.’
But I only did say, ‘I tried once to teach her to dance. It was
no good.’ That was all I said, but Hugo knew I was angry. I could
see that from the way he looked at me, and when he looked at
me like that it was harder still not to cry. He looked hurt and
puzzled, like a child who is spoken to crossly and doesn’t know
what it has done wrong.