Jane laughed. "Yes, as it happens, I do." "Ah, _you_--_you_----" "We both do," said Jane boldly. "You're the first nice woman I've known who hasn't been horrid to me. And he----" Kitty had been playing with a button of her dressing-gown. Her fingers now began tearing, passionately, convulsively, at the button. "He is the first nice man who--who hasn't been what men are." "You don't mean that," said Jane calmly. She was holding Mrs. Tailleur's hand in hers and caressing it, soothing its pathetic violence. "I do. I do. That's why I like you so." "I'm glad you like us." "I'd give anything to know what you really think of me." "May I say what I think?" "Yes." "I think you're too good to be so unhappy." "That's a new view of me. Most people think I'm too unhappy to be very good." "You _are_ good; but if you'd been happier you'd have known that other people are what you call good, too." "That's what I said to Bunny. _She_ was unhappy." "Never mind her. If you'd been happier you'd have known, for instance, that my brother isn't an exception. There are a great many men like him. All the men I've known have been more or less like Robert." "They would be, dear; all the men _you've_ known. But, you see, something happened. Nothing ever happened to you." "No. Nothing very much has happened to me. Nothing very much ever will." "You never wanted things to happen, did you?" "I don't know. Perhaps I'm interested most in the things that happen to other people." "You dear! If I'd been like you----" "I wish," said Jane, "you'd known Robert sooner." Mrs. Tailleur's lips parted, but no voice came through them. "Then," said Jane, "whatever happened never would have happened, probably." "I wonder. What do you suppose happened?" "I don't know. I've no business to know." "What do you think? Tell me--tell me!" "I think you've been very badly handled." "Yes. You may think so." "When you were young--too young to understand it." "Ah, I was never too young to understand. That's the difference between you and me." "That makes it all the worse, then." "All the worse! So that's what you think? How does it make you feel to me?" "It makes me feel that I want to take you away, and warm you and wrap you round, so that nothing could ever touch you and hurt you any more." "That's how it makes you feel?" "That's how it makes us both feel." "_He_ takes it that way, too?" "Of course he does. Any nice man would." "If _I_ were nice----" "You _are_ nice." "You don't know, my child; you don't know." "Do you suppose Robert doesn't know?" Mrs. Tailleur rose suddenly and turned away. "I was nice once," she said, "and at times I can be now." CHAPTER XI