“Such as?” she asked.
“Such as what you call delicacy, I suppose.”
“That surprises me,” she said, pleased. “I thought you despised it.”
“That’s not true.”
“I thought you considered it—how shall I put it?—a soft quality.”
“I consider it a feminine attribute.” Prudencia grimaced. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it can, or even should, be present in a man’s character.”
“But it’s not in yours.”
“No. That’s why knowing you has been so enriching.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, watching the falling snow through the summerhouse windows.
Then Miss Prim said: “I’d like to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For nothing, and for everything. I just think I should. I’ll probably realize at some stage that I should have thanked you and, when that happens, I don’t want to feel that I missed my chance. Do you see?”
“Not at all,” he said baldly.
She stared at him, crestfallen, wondering how such brilliance and such exasperating, blunt, pigheaded insensitivity could coexist within the same person. She felt she’d been perfectly clear. Half of humanity, if not all, had at some time experienced the intuition, the conviction that they should thank someone for something. But many had let the words die on their lips, and Miss Prim didn’t want to be one of them.
“You are a strange person. You absolutely lack empathy,” she said.
“And yet you are fond of me,” he said.
“Vanity is another of your great faults,” she continued, unperturbed. “I’d say I respect you. With that, I think I’ve said enough.”
The Man in the Wing Chair smiled.
“But we’re friends, even so,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“We are,” she replied in a whisper. Then, in one of the emotional outbursts that seized her occasionally and made her say things abruptly and almost breathlessly, she added: “Do you really believe that love between two very different people is impossible?”
He stood up and pulled the door of the old summerhouse half closed so the snow didn’t blow in.
“I’ve never said that,” he replied, returning to his seat. “No, I don’t think it’s impossible. I’d say it’s very common.”
“But you...” stammered Miss Prim, astonished by the strange recklessness that had impelled her to say such a thing, “you and Herminia...”
“We separated because we were very different?” The Man in the Wing Chair shook his head. “You haven’t understood, Prudencia. You haven’t understood at all what I tried to explain the other day.”
“Perhaps you didn’t explain it well,” she replied coolly, annoyed by the idea of being classified as a person who understood nothing. “Perhaps you were too cryptic.”
“Right, well, I’ll make it easy then.”
Miss Prim wondered if, in defense of her own dignity, she shouldn’t object to this didactic condescension but, as so often with her employer, curiosity overcame pride.
“I’m listening.”
“Imagine for a moment that you and I—two very different people—decided to go to St. Petersburg together. Are you following me?”
“Perfectly.”
