Chapter TEN: Robin's Way of Doing It

What happened when Robin locked the door on himself and Dolly is now set down here. Strictly speaking it ought to come later, but there is no need to make a mystery about it. I have taken the account of the proceedings mainly from the letter which Dolly wrote to Dilly three days later.

It would be useless to reproduce that document in full. In the first place, it contains a good deal that is not only irrelevant but absolutely incomprehensible. There is one mysterious passage, for instance, occurring right in the middle of the letter, beginning, _To turn the heel, knit to three beyond the seam-stitch, knit two together, purl one, turn: then knit ten, knit two together, knit one, purl one_ ... introduced by an airy, "By the way, dear, before I forget"----which appears to have no bearing on the context whatever.

In the second place, Dolly's literary style is as breathlessly devoid of punctuation as that of most of her sex. Commas and notes of interrogation form her chief stock-in-trade, though underlining is freely employed. There is not a single full-stop from start to finish. The extracts from the letter here reproduced have been edited by me. Other details of the incident have been tactfully extracted by Kitty and myself--chiefly Kitty, I must confess--from the principals themselves, and the whole is now offered to the public, unabridged, with marginal comments, for the first time.

* * * * *

On entering the little room on the landing Dolly dropped on to a shabby but comfortable old sofa behind the door, and said, with a contented sigh--

"I'm so tired, Robin. Aren't you? Let's sit down and not talk till it's time to go downstairs again. It's--Robin, what _are_ you doing?"

Robin was locking the door.

That operation completed, he turned and looked round the little room. There was an arm-chair in the corner, but he came and sat down on the sofa beside Dolly. Dolly gazed at him dumbly.

* * * * *

"He looked so utterly grim and determined" [says the letter], "that my
heart began to bump in a perfectly fatuous way. I felt like a woman
who is going to be murdered in a railway tunnel.

"He sat down, and one of his huge hands was suddenly stretched towards
me, and I thought at first he was trying to grab one of mine. I did my
best to edge away along the sofa, but I was up against the end
already.

"Then his hand opened, and something dropped into my lap. It was the
key of the door.

"'I have locked it,' he said, 'not with any intention of keeping you
in, but in the hope of keeping other people out. You are perfectly
free to get up and go whenever you please, if you don't wish to listen
to what I have to say.'

"Well, dear, I suppose I ought to have risen to my full height, and,
with a few superb gestures of haughty contempt, have swept
majestically from the room. But--I didn't! I saw I was in for another
proposal, and as the man couldn't eat me I decided to let him do his
worst.

"It was a weird proposal, though." [_Spelt 'wierd.'_] "It wasn't
exactly what he said, because one is never surprised at anything a
man may say when he is proposing; but the way he said it. All men
say pretty much the same thing in the end, but most of them are so
_horribly_ nervous that they simply don't know what they're talking
about for the first five minutes or so. (Do you remember poor little
Algy Brock? He was nearly _crying_ all the time. At least he was
with me, and I suppose he was with you too.) But Robin might have
been having a chat with his solicitor the way he behaved. I'll tell
you..."

Robin apparently began by telling Dolly, quite simply and plainly, that he loved her. Then he gave a brief outline of the history of his affection. It had begun at the very beginning of things, he said, almost as soon as he discovered that he could distinguish Dolly from Dilly without the aid of the brown spot. "And that was after I had been in the house just three days," he added.

For some time, it appeared, he had been content to be pleasantly in love. He enjoyed Dolly's society when it came his way, but with native caution he had taken care to avoid seeking too much of it in case he should gradually find himself unable to do without it.

"I saw from the first," he said, "that you were entirely unconscious of my feelings towards you; and I would not have had it otherwise. If I was to succeed at all it must be as an acquired taste; and acquired tastes, as you know, are best formed unconsciously."

Dolly nodded to show her detached appreciation of the soundness of this point.

"I permitted myself one indulgence," Robin continued. "I dedicated a book to you."

"O-oh!" said Dolly, genuinely interested. "Was that me? Dilly and I thought it must be a girl in Scotland."

Then she realised that this was a step down from her pedestal of aloofness, and was silent again. Robin went on--

"Yes, it was you. It was a sentimental thing to do, but it afforded me immense pleasure. Love lives more on the homage it pays than that which it receives. Have you noticed that?"

"I have never thought about it," said Dolly distantly.

"I thought not," replied Robin; "because it shows, what I have always been tolerably certain of, that you have never been in love. However, to resume." [_"Like a lecture on Greek Roots, or something equally fusty,"_ observes Dolly at this point.] "The time came, as it was bound to come, when I realised that I must tell you I loved you"----

"I rather like the way he always said _'love'_ straight out," comments
Dolly: "most men are so frightened of it. They say 'am fond of' or
'care for' or something feeble like that. All except the curate with
pink eyes. (You remember him? Dora Claverton took him afterwards on
the rebound.) He said 'esteem highly' I think."

----"or leave this house altogether. But before doing that I had to decide two things: firstly, whether I was good enough for you, and secondly, if not now, whether I ever should be."

Dolly's half-closed eyes opened a trifle wider. This was certainly a methodically-minded young man.

"It was difficult to decide the first question in practice," continued Robin. "In theory, of course, any man who is a _man_--honest, clean, and kind--is a fitting mate for any woman. Don't you think so?"

"No," said Dolly.

"I see," said Robin gently. "The theoretical is mainly the man's point of view: woman looks straight to practical results. She is rather inclined to take the virtues I have mentioned for granted, or do without them; and she founds her opinion of a man almost solely upon his capacity for boring her or stimulating her. In other words, she is guided by her instinct. Isn't she?"

"Is she?" said Dolly, determined this time to maintain her attitude of indifference.

"I think so," said Robin. "However, knowing how impossible it is for one sex to look at a matter from the point of view of another, I decided to stick to my own methods. So I made a summary of my points, good and bad. They are these: I am strong and healthy; I possess an appetite for hard work; I was born with brains; I have considerable capacity for organisation----"

"Some people have a good conceit of themselves!" said Dolly.

"_Every_ one should have," replied Robin with conviction. "And," he added, "most of us have. _I_ have--_you_ have!"

"Oh!" said Dolly indignantly.

"But a man may have a good conceit of himself," Robin continued soothingly, "without being what the world calls conceited. Modesty consists not in taking a low estimate of one's own worth, but in refraining from the expectation that the world will take a high one."

Dolly nodded gravely.

"I see," she said. "I didn't know you meant that. Yes, there is something in what you say."

"I thank you," said Robin. "It is very helpful to me to get this courteous hearing from you; for to tell you the truth," he added rather explosively, "I find it a very, very great effort to speak to you like this at all. You see, I am talking of things that go right to the centre of the human heart--things that a man never speaks of to a man, and only once to a woman. It has to be done, but it is hard, hard!"

He drew a long breath, in a manner which made the sofa tremble; and Dolly suddenly realised the height and depth of the barrier of reserve and pride that this grave and undemonstrative man had had to break down before he could offer her the view of his inmost soul to which he considered that she was entitled. She felt a sudden pang of awe, mingled with compassionate sympathy. She was not given to wearing her heart on her sleeve herself.

"Well," continued Robin, evidently relieved by this little confession, "those are my assets. On the other hand, I have no money, no position--I will not say no birth, for I come of good, honest stock--and my prospects are at present in the clouds. But to one type of wife all that would not matter a scrap. There are two types, you know--two types of _good_ wife, that is."

"I would have given worlds," says Dolly here, "just to have said 'Oh!'
or something; but for the life of me I couldn't help asking what the
two types were."

"The first," said Robin, "is the wife who loves her husband because she is proud of him, because he is successful and powerful, and people admire him; and not because she has any conception of or sympathy with the qualities which have made him what he is. To such a one the husband must come with his reputation ready made, and they will enjoy it together. The other type loves her husband because she sees through him, yet believes in him and sympathises with his aims, and intends to make a success of him. And she usually does."

"And which am I?" inquired Dolly.

"The latter, undoubtedly--the higher type. And therefore, if there had been nothing else in the way, I think I should have given myself the benefit of the doubt. But----"

"He turned and looked at me here," writes Dolly, and said--

"'But your feminine instinct is chafing against all this laborious
weighing of pros and cons. In your own mind you summed up the
situation ten minutes ago. I am--"impossible." Isn't that it?'

"My _dear_, I nearly _screamed_, for of course that is just what was
in my mind. But I couldn't very well say so, so I just sat there and
looked rather idiotic and he went on--

"'In other words, I am not quite a gentleman.'

"Then I said quite suddenly--

"'Robin, whatever else you may be, you _are_ a gentleman.'

"He got quite pink. 'Thank you,' he said. 'But for all that, I am too
rough a suitor for such a polished little aristocrat as yourself.'
(Rather cheek, that! After all, Dilly, we're five feet seven.) 'We
live in an artificial sort of world; and a man, in order not to jar on
those around him, requires certain social accomplishments. I have
few--at present. You have taught me a great deal, but I should still
rather discredit you as a husband. My want of polish would 'affront'
you, as we say in Scotland. I am a better beater than shot; I can
break a horse better than I can ride it; and I dance a reel better
than I waltz. I have strength, but no grace; ability, but no
distinction. Of course, if you and I really loved each other--you
being of Type Two--none of these things would matter. But for all
that, it would hurt you to see people smiling at your husband's little
_gaucheries_, wouldn't it?'

"I didn't answer, and he got up and went and leaned against the
mantelpiece.

"'Listen,' he said, 'and I will tell you what I have decided to do. I
have made up my mind not to have a try for you--badly though I want
it--till I consider that I have reached your standard. I fixed that
standard myself, so it is a very, very high one, I have been schooling
myself and shaping myself to attain it ever since I met you. But I
have not quite reached it yet, and therefore I have nothing to ask of
you now.'"

"Then what on earth have you brought me here for?" inquired Dolly, feeling vaguely aggrieved.

Robin surveyed her rather wistfully, and then smiled in a disarming fashion.

"That was weakness," he said, "sheer weakness. But I think it was pardonable. I saw, now that your sister was married, that the days of your old irresponsible flirtations were over, and that you would henceforth regard proposals of marriage as much more serious things than hitherto. Consequently you might marry any day, without ever knowing that a little later on you would have received an offer from me. I have brought you here, then, to tell you that I am a prospective candidate, but that I do not feel qualified to put down my name at present. Ideally speaking, I ought to have kept silence until the moment when I considered that I was ready for you; but--well, there are limits to self-repression, and I have allowed myself this one little outbreak. All I ask, then, is that in considering other offers you will bear somewhere in the back of your mind the remembrance that you will, if you desire it, one day have the refusal of me. I admit that the possibility of your being influenced by the recollection is very remote, but I am going to leave nothing undone that _can_ be done to get you."

"By this time," Dolly continues elegantly, "I was getting considerably
flummoxed. The whole business was very absurd and uncomfortable, but I
couldn't help feeling rather complimented at the way he evidently
regarded me--as a sort of little tin goddess on a pedestal out of
reach, being asked to be so good as to stand still a moment while
Robin went to hunt for the steps--and I also felt a little bit afraid
of him. He was so quiet and determined over it all. He seemed to have
it all mapped out in a kind of time-table inside him. However, I
pulled myself together and decided to contribute my share to the
conversation. I hadn't had much of a look in, so far.

"So I settled down to talk to him like a mother. I began by saying
that I was very much obliged and honoured, and all that, but that he
had better put the idea out of his head once and for all. I liked him
very much, and had always regarded him as a great friend, quite one of
the family--you know the sort of stuff--but----

"It was no good. He held up his hand like a policeman at a crossing,
and said--

"'Please say nothing. I have asked you no question of any kind, so no
answer is required. All that I have said to-night has been in the
nature of an _intimation_.' (O-h! how like church!)

"Then he sat down on the sofa beside me, very gently, and said--

"'The intimation in brief is this. I love you; and some day, please
God, I shall ask you to marry me. But not until I feel that you would
lose nothing by doing so.'

"We both sat very still for a few minutes after that. I fancy we were
both doing a little thinking. My chief reflection was that Robin had
had rather the better of the interview, because he had made me listen
to him when I was determined not to. Suddenly Robin said--

"'Now that the business part of this conversation is over, I am going
to allow myself a luxury. I have been talking most of the time about
myself. For just five minutes I shall talk about you. I will tell you
what I think of you.'

"He looked at his watch and began. Dilly, I had no idea I had so many
good points! He put them better than any man has ever done before. But
then the other men were always so jumbled up, and this creature was as
cool and collected as if he were reading a Stores Catalogue.

"But he let himself go at last. It was my fault, though. I was in
rather a twitter by this time, for although the whole thing was simply
absurd--of course one couldn't marry a wild untamed creature like
that, _could_ one, Dilly?--I couldn't help seeing what a man he was,
and feeling sorry that things couldn't have been a bit different, if
only for his sake. So I gave him my hand" [I can see her do it] "and
said: 'Poor old Robin!'

"He _seized_ it--my child, it has waggled like a blanc-mange ever
since!--and kissed it. Then, quite suddenly, he broke out into a sort
of rhapsody-like _'The Song of Solomon,'_ only nicer--with his head
bowed over my hands. (He had got hold of the other one too, by this
time.) I felt perfectly helpless, so I let him run on. I shan't tell
you what he said, dear, because it wouldn't be cricket. Anyhow, a
perfectly idiotic tear suddenly rolled down my nose--after all, I had
had a _fearfully_ long day--and I tried to pull my hands away. Robin
let them go at once.

"'You are right. The time for such things is not yet,' he said, in a
queer Biblical sort of way. 'It was a sudden weakness on my part. I
had not meant it, you may be sure.'

"The only thing I _am_ sure about," I said, feeling thoroughly vexed
about the tear, "is that we have been in this room nearly an hour.
Please unlock the door.

"Then we went downstairs."

After that follow one or two postscripts of a reflective nature, the general trend of which seems to indicate that Robin is rather a dear, but quite impossible.

* * * * *

"A flippant and unfeeling letter," you say, sir? Perhaps. But there is often no reserve so deep or so delicate as that which is veiled by a frivolous exterior and a mocking attitude towards sentiment in general. Some sensitive people are so afraid of having their hearts dragged to light that, to escape inquisition, they pretend they do not possess any. Moreover, I know Dolly well enough to be certain that she was not quite so brutally unkind to Robin during this interview as she would have us believe.

"The blundering creature! He went about it in _quite_ the wrong way," you say, madam? Very likely. But if a woman only took a man when he went about it in exactly the right way, how very few marriages there would be!