I would be angry, impatient, miserable. Russian girls begin life
so early.... After a time, mother began to treat me as though I was
grown up. We went to Petrograd and I thought about clothes and
theatres. But I never forgot--I always waited for the man or the work
or the friend that was to make life real. Then suddenly the war came
and I thought that I had found what I wanted. But there too there were
disappointments. John was not John, the war was not the war ... and
it's only to-day now that I feel as though I were r-right inside. I've
been so stupid--I've made so many mistakes." She dropped her voice:
"I've always been afraid, Ivan Andreievitch, that is the truth. You
remember that morning before S----?"

"Yes," I said. "I remember it."

"Well, it has been often, often like that. I've been afraid of myself
and--of something else--of dying. I found that I didn't want to die,
that the thought of death was too horrible to me. That day of the
Retreat how afraid I was! John could not protect me, no one could. And
I was ashamed of myself! How ashamed, how miserable. And I was afraid
because I thought of myself more than of any one else--always. I had
fine ideals but--in practice--it was only that--that I always was
selfish. Now, for the first time ever, I care for some one more than
myself and suddenly I am afraid of death no longer. It is true, Ivan
Andreievitch, I do not believe that death can separate Alexei from me;
I have more reason now to wish to live than I have ever had, but now I
am not afraid. Wherever I am, Alexei will come--wherever he is, I will
go...."

She broke off--then laughed. "You think it silly in England to talk
about such things. No English girl would, would she? In Russia we are
silly if we like. But oh! how happy it is, after all these weeks, not
to be afraid--not to wake up early and lie there and think--think and
shudder. They used to say I was brave about the wounded, brave at
S----, brave at operations ... if they only knew! You only, Ivan
Andreievitch, have seen me afraid, you only!..." She looked at me, her
eyes searching my face: "Isn't it strange that you who do not love me
know me, perhaps, better than John--and yes, better than Alexei.
That's why I tell you--I can talk to you. I never could talk to
women--I never cared for women. You and John for my friends--yes, I am
indeed happy!"

She got up from the old sofa, walked a little about the room, looked
at the remains of the meal, a