"What are we to do with him?" he asked. "He comes out for his
holiday to Italy, and behaves--like that; like the little child
who ought to have been playing, and who hurt himself upon the
tombstone. Eh? What did you say?"
Lucy had made no suggestion. Suddenly he said:
"Now don't be stupid over this. I don't require you to fall in
love with my boy, but I do think you might try and understand
him. You are nearer his age, and if you let yourself go I am sure
you are sensible. You might help me. He has known so few women,
and you have the time. You stop here several weeks, I suppose?
But let yourself go. You are inclined to get muddled, if I may
judge from last night. Let yourself go. Pull out from the depths
those thoughts that you do not understand, and spread them out in
the sunlight and know the meaning of them. By understanding
George you may learn to understand yourself. It will be good for
both of you."
To this extraordinary speech Lucy found no answer.
"I only know what it is that's wrong with him; not why it is.
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