"Poor darling Nicholas," she said again.
Something hurt awfully, as I realized that to touch me now caused her no
thrill. No woman will ever thrill again when I am near.
Nina does know all about clothes! She is the best-dressed Englishwoman I
have ever seen. She has worked awfully well for the war, too, I hear,
she deserves her fortnight in Paris.
"What are you going to do, Nina?" I asked her.
She was going out to theatres every night, and going to dine with lots
of delicious 'red tabs' whose work was over here, whom she had not seen
for a long time.
"I'm just going to frivol, Nicholas, I am tired of work."
Nothing could exceed her kindness--a mother's kindness.
I tried to take an interest in everything she said, only it seemed such
aeons away. As though I were talking in a dream.
She would go plodding on at her war job when she got back again, of
course, but she, like everyone else, is war weary.
"And when peace comes--it will soon come now probably--what then?"
"I believe I shall marry again."
I jumped--I had never contemplated the possibility of Nina marrying, she
has always been a widowed institution, with her nice little house in
Queen Street, and that wonderful cook.
"What on earth for?"
"I want the companionship and devotion of one man."
"Anyone in view?"
"Yes--one or two--they say there is a shortage of men, I have never
known so many men in my life."