“It was a terrible time for all of you,” I said rapidly. “I don’t suppose you like being reminded about it. I just wondered if there was anything one could do to the cottage, that’s all. It seems such a pity, all the furniture being spoiled by the damp.”
He did not say anything. I felt hot and uncomfortable. He must have sensed that it was not concern for the empty cottage that had prompted me to all these questions, and now he was silent because he was shocked at me. Ours had been a comfortable, steady sort of friendship. I had felt him an ally. Perhaps I had destroyed all this, and he would never feel the same about me again.
“What a long drive this is,” I said; “it always reminds me of the path in the forest in a Grimm’s fairy tale, where the prince gets lost, you know. It’s always longer than one expects, and the trees are so dark, and close.”
“Yes, it is rather exceptional,” he said.
I could tell by his manner he was still on his guard, as though waiting for a further question from me. There was an awkwardness between us that could not be ignored. Something had to be done about it, even if it covered me with shame.
“Frank,” I said desperately, “I know what you are thinking. You can’t understand why I asked all those questions just now. You think I’m morbid, and curious, in a rather beastly way. It’s not that, I promise you. It’s only that—that sometimes I feel myself at such a disadvantage. It’s all very strange to me, living here at Manderley. Not the sort of life I’ve been brought up to. When I go returning these calls, as I did this afternoon, I know people are looking me up and down, wondering what sort of success I’m going to make of it. I can imagine them saying, ‘What on earth does Maxim see in her?’ And then, Frank, I begin to wonder myself, and I begin to doubt, and I have a fearful haunting feeling that I should never have married Maxim, that we are not going to be happy. You see, I know that all the time, whenever I meet anyone new, they are all thinking the same thing—How different she is to Rebecca.”
I stopped breathless, already a little ashamed of my outburst, feeling that now at any rate I had burned my boats for all time. He turned to me looking very concerned and troubled.
“Mrs. de Winter, please don’t think that,” he said. “For my part I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you have married Maxim. It will make all the difference to his life. I am positive that you will make a great success of it. From my point of view it’s—it’s very refreshing and charming to find someone like yourself who is not entirely—er—” he blushed, searching for a word “not entirely au fait, shall we say, with ways at Manderley. And if people around here give you the impression that they are criticizing you, it’s—well—it’s most damnably offensive of them, that’s all. I’ve never heard a word of criticism, and if I did I should take great care that it was never uttered again.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Frank,” I said, “and what you say helps enormously. I dare say I’ve been very stupid. I’m not good at meeting people, I’ve never had to do it, and all the time I keep remembering how—how it must have been at Manderley before, when there was someone there who was born and bred to it, did it all naturally and without effort. And I realize, every day, that things I lack, confidence, grace, beauty, intelligence, wit—Oh, all the qualities that mean most in a woman—she possessed. It doesn’t help, Frank, it doesn’t help.”
He said nothing. He went on looking anxious, and distressed. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “You must not say that,” he said.
“Why not? It’s true,” I said.
“You have qualities that are just as important, far more so, in fact. It’s perhaps cheek of me to say so, I don’t know you very well. I’m a bachelor, I don’t know very much about women, I lead a quiet sort of life down here at Manderley as you know, but I should say that kindness, and sincerity, and—if I may say so—modesty are worth far more to a man, to a husband, than all the wit and beauty in the world.”
He looked very agitated, and blew his nose again. I saw that I had upset him far more than I had upset myself, and the realization of this calmed me and gave me a feeling of superiority. I wondered why he was making such a fuss. After all, I had not said very much. I had only confessed my sense of insecurity, following as I did upon Rebecca. And she must have had these qualities that he presented to me as mine. She must have been kind and sincere, with all her friends, her boundless popularity. I was not sure what he meant by modesty. It was a word I had never understood. I always imagined it had something to do with minding meeting people in a passage on the way to the bathroom… Poor Frank. And Beatrice had called him a dull man, with never a word to say for himself.