I've no idea when he first thought of Nina. He did not, of course, like
her at the beginning, and I doubt whether she caused him any real
concern, too, until her flight to Grogoff. That shocked him terribly. He
confessed as much to me. She had always been so happy and easy about
life. Nothing was serious to her. I remember once telling her she ought
to take the war more deeply. I was a bit of a prig about it, I suppose.
At any rate she thought me one.... And then to go off to a fellow like
Grogoff!
He thought of it the more seriously when he saw the agony Vera was in.
She did not ask him to help her, and so he did nothing; but he watched
her efforts, the letters that she wrote, the eagerness with which she
ravished the post, her fruitless visits to Grogoff's flat, her dejected
misery over her failure. He began himself to form plans, not, I am
convinced, from any especial affection for Nina, but simply because he
had the soul of a knight, although, thank God, he didn't know it. I
expect, too, that he was pretty dissatisfied with his knight-errantries.
His impassioned devotion to Vera had led to nothing at all, his
enthusiasm for Russia had led to a most unsatisfactory Revolution, and
his fatherly protection of Markovitch had inspired apparently nothing
more fruitful than distrust.
Pages:
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579