That's quite different from the way Dora behaved. I was so much upset
that I nearly cried, and then he drew me into a doorway and _put his arm
round me_ and with his _own_ handkerchief wiped away my tears. I shall
never tell Dora about that. Then he asked me to be awfully kind to Dora
because she had such a _lot_ to bear. I don't really know _what_ she has
to bear, but still, for his sake, because it's really worth doing it for
that, after dinner I put a note upon her desk, saying: V. sends oceans
of love to you and hopes you will be all right again by Monday. At the
same time his best thanks for the book. I put the note in Heidepeter's
Gabriel, which she had lent to me to read and put it down very
significantly. When she read it she flushed up, swallowed a few times
and said: "Have you seen him? Where was it and when?" Then I told her
all about it and she was frightfully touched and said: "You really are
a good girl, only frightfully undependable." What do you mean,
undependable? She said: Yes undependable, for one simply must not blurt
out things in that way; never mind, I will try to forget. Have you
finished Heidepeter's Gabriel yet? "No," I said, "I'm not going to read
anyone's book with whom I'm angry." In the end we made it up, but of
course we did not talk any more about it and I did not say a word about
that business with the handkerchief.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145