"No, abroad--to Switzerland, Italy, anywhere. I mean by your staying
here for me," Milly pursued, "your staying with me wherever I may be,
even though we may neither of us know at the time where it is. No," she
insisted, "I _don't_ know where I am, and you never will, and it
doesn't matter--and I dare say it's quite true," she broke off, "that
everything will have to come out." Her friend would have felt of her
that she joked about it now, had not her scale from grave to gay been a
thing of such unnamable shades that her contrasts were never sharp. She
made up for failures of gravity by failures of mirth; if she hadn't,
that is, been at times as earnest as might have been liked, so she was
certain not to be at other times as easy as she would like herself. "I
must face the music. It isn't, at any rate, its 'coming out,'" she
added; "it's that Mrs. Condrip would put the fact before her to his
injury."