But all this was put down to nervousness, and the quiet, steady, "sip-
sip-sip, fill and sip-sip-sip, again," that went on in his own room when he
was by himself, was never known. Which was miraculous, seeing how everything
in a man's private life is public property out here.
Moriarty was drawn, not into Mrs. Reiver's set, because they were not his
sort, but into the power of Mrs. Reiver, and he fell down in front of her and
made a goddess of her. This was due to his coming fresh out of the jungle to a
big town. He could not scale things properly or see who was what.
Because Mrs. Reiver was cold and hard, he said she was stately and dignified.
Because she had no brains, and could not talk cleverly, he said she was
reserved and shy. Mrs. Reiver shy! Because she was unworthy of honor or
reverence from any one, he reverenced her from a distance and dowered her with
all the virtues in the Bible and most of those in Shakespeare.
This big, dark, abstracted man who was so nervous when a pony cantered behind
him, used to moon in the train of Mrs. Reiver, blushing with pleasure when she
threw a word or two his way. His admiration was strictly platonic: even other
women saw and admitted this. He did not move out in Simla, so he heard nothing
against his idol: which was satisfactory.
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