BOOK TENTH: NANDA
about ten!' And when I said 'Ten P.M.?' he quite laughed at my innocence over a person of such habits. What are his habits then now, and what are you putting him up to? Seriously," Vanderbank pursued, "I am awfully sorry, and I wonder if, the first time you've a chance, you'd kindly tell him you've heard me say so and that I mean yet to run him to earth. The same, really, with the Mitchys. I didn't, somehow, the other night, in such a lot of people, get at them. But I sat opposite to Aggie all through dinner, and that puts me in mind. I should like volumes from you about Aggie, please. It's too revolting of me not to go to see her. But every one knows I'm busy. We're up to our necks!"
"I can't tell you," said Nanda, "how kind I think it of you to have found, with all you have to do, a moment for this. But please, without delay, let me tell you—"
Practically, however, he would let her tell him nothing; his almost aggressive friendly optimism clung so to references of short range. "Don't mention it, please. It's too charming of you to squeeze me in. To see you, moreover, does me good. Quite distinct good. And your writing me touched me—oh, but really. There were all sorts of old things in it." Then he broke out, once more, on her books, one of which, for some minutes past, he had held in his hand. "I see you go in for sets—and, my dear child, upon my word, I see, big sets. What's this?—'Vol. 23: The British Poets.' Vol. 23 is delightful—do tell me about Vol. 23. Are you doing much in the British Poets? But when the deuce, you wonderful being, do you find time to read? I don't find any—it's too hideous. One relapses, in London, into illiteracy and barbarism. I have to keep up a false glitter to hide, in conversation, my rapidly increasing ignorance: I should be so ashamed, after all, to see other people not shocked by it. But teach me, teach me!" he gaily went on.
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