Bohun was looking after her, and Lawrence was with Nina. I sat
behind the four of them, in the back of the little box, like a presiding
Benevolence.
Mostly I thought of how lovely Vera was to-night, and why it was, too,
that more people did not care for her. I knew that she was not popular,
that she was considered proud and reserved and cold. As she sat there
now, motionless, her hands on her lap, her whole being seemed to me to
radiate goodness and gentleness and a loving heart. I knew that she
could be impatient with stupid people, and irritated by sentimentality,
and infuriated by meanness and cruelty, but the whole size and grandeur
of her nobility seemed to me to shine all about her and set her apart
from the rest of human beings. She was not a woman whom I ever could
have loved--she had not the weaknesses and naiveties and appealing
helplessness that drew love from one's heart. Nor could I have ever
dared to face the depth and splendour of the passion that there was in
her--I was not built on that heroic scale. God forgive me if, as I
watched them, I felt a sudden glow of almost eager triumph at the
thought of Lawrence as her lover! I checked it.
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