"Yes, the more I think of it. And luckily for _me_. I lie badly."
"_I_ lie well, thank God," Mrs. Lowder almost snorted, "when, as
sometimes will happen, there's nothing else so good. One must always do
the best. But without lies then," she went on, "perhaps we can work it
out." Her interest had risen; her friend saw her, as within some
minutes, more enrolled and inflamed--presently felt in her what had
made the difference. Mrs. Stringham, it was true, descried this at the
time but dimly; she only made out at first that Maud had found a reason
for helping her. The reason was that, strangely, she might help Maud
too, for which she now desired to profess herself ready even to lying.
What really perhaps most came out for her was that her hostess was a
little disappointed at her doubt of the social solidity of this
appliance; and that in turn was to become a steadier light. The truth
about Kate's delusion, as her aunt presented it, the delusion about the
state of her affections, which might be removed--this was apparently
the ground on which they now might more intimately meet. Mrs. Stringham
saw herself recruited for the removal of Kate's delusion--by arts,
however, in truth, that she as yet quite failed to compass. Or was it
perhaps to be only for the removal of Mr. Densher's?--success in which
indeed might entail other successes. Before that job, unfortunately,
her heart had already failed. She felt that she believed in her bones
what Milly believed, and what would now make working for Milly such a
dreadful upward tug. All this within her was confusedly present--a
cloud of questions out of which Maud Manningham's large seated self
loomed, however, as a mass more and more definite, taking in fact for
the consultative relation something of the form of an oracle. From the
oracle the sound did come--or at any rate the sense did, a sense all
accordant with the insufflation she had just seen working. "Yes," the
sense was, "I'll help you for Milly, because if that comes off I shall
be helped, by its doing so, for Kate"--a view into which Mrs. Stringham
could now sufficiently enter. She found herself of a sudden, strange to
say, quite willing to operate to Kate's harm, or at least to Kate's
good as Mrs. Lowder with a noble anxiety measured it. She found herself
in short not caring what became of Kate--only convinced at bottom of
the predominance of Kate's star. Kate wasn't in danger, Kate wasn't
pathetic; Kate Croy, whatever happened, would take care of Kate Croy.
She saw moreover by this time that her friend was travelling even
beyond her own speed. Mrs. Lowder had already, in mind, drafted a rough
plan of action, a plan vividly enough thrown off as she said: "You must
stay on a few days, and you must immediately, both of you, meet him at
dinner." In addition to which Maud claimed the merit of having by an
instinct of pity, of prescient wisdom, done much, two nights before, to
prepare that ground. "The poor child, when I was with her there while
you were getting your shawl, quite gave herself away to me."
"Oh I remember how you afterwards put it to me. Though it was nothing
more," Susie did herself the justice to observe, "than what I too had
quite felt."
But Mrs. Lowder fronted her so on this that she wondered what she had
said. "I suppose I ought to be edified at what you can so beautifully
give up."
"Give up?" Mrs. Stringham echoed. "Why, I give up nothing--I cling."
Her hostess showed impatience, turning again with some stiffness to her
great brass-bound cylinder-desk and giving a push to an object or two
disposed there. "I give up then. You know how little such a person as
Mr. Densher was to be my idea for her. You know what I've been thinking
perfectly possible."
"Oh you've been great"--Susie was perfectly fair. "A duke, a duchess, a
princess, a palace: you've made me believe in them too. But where we
break down is that _she_ doesn't believe in them. Luckily for her--as
it seems to be turning out--she doesn't want them. So what's one to do?
I assure you I've had many dreams. But I've only one dream now."
Mrs. Stringham's tone in these last words gave so fully her meaning
that Mrs. Lowder could but show herself as taking it in. They sat a
moment longer confronted on it. "Her having what she does want?"
"If it _will_ do anything for her."
Mrs. Lowder seemed to think what it might do; but she spoke for the
instant of something else. "It does provoke me a bit, you know--for of
course I'm a brute. And I had thought of all sorts of things. Yet it
doesn't prevent the fact that we must be decent."
"We must take her"--Mrs. Stringham carried that out--"as she is."
"And we must take Mr. Densher as _he_ is." With which Mrs. Lowder gave
a sombre laugh. "It's a pity he isn't better!"
"Well, if he were better," her friend rejoined, "you'd have liked him
for your niece; and in that case Milly would interfere. I mean," Susie
added, "interfere with _you_."
"She interferes with me as it is--not that it matters now. But I saw
Kate and her--really as soon as you came to me--set up side by side. I
saw your girl--I don't mind telling--you helping my girl; and when I
say that," Mrs. Lowder continued, "you'll probably put in for yourself
that it was part of the reason of my welcome to you. So you see what I
give up. I do give it up. But when I take that line," she further set
forth, "I take it handsomely. So good-bye to it all. Good-day to Mrs.
Densher! Heavens!" she growled.
Susie held herself a minute. "Even as Mrs. Densher my girl will be
somebody."
"Yes, she won't be nobody. Besides," said Mrs. Lowder, "we're talking
in the air."