XII

I went from one room to the other, but to find only, at first, as on my

previous circuit, a desert on which the sun had still not set. Mrs.

Brissenden was nowhere, but the whole place waited as we had left it,

with seats displaced and flowers dispetalled, a fan forgotten on a

table, a book laid down upon a chair. It came over me as I looked about

that if she _had_ "squared" the household, so large an order, as they

said, was a sign sufficient of what I was to have from her. I had quite

rather it were her doing--not mine; but it showed with eloquence that

she had after all judged some effort or other to be worth her while. Her

renewed delay moreover added to my impatience of mind in respect to the

nature of this effort by striking me as already part of it. What, I

asked myself, could be so much worth her while as to have to be paid for

by so much apparent reluctance? But at last I saw her through a vista of

open doors, and as I forthwith went to her--she took no step to meet

me--I was doubtless impressed afresh with the "pull" that in social

intercourse a woman always has. She was able to assume on the spot by

mere attitude and air the appearance of having been ready and therefore

inconvenienced. Oh, I saw soon enough that she was ready and that one of

the forms of her readiness would be precisely to offer herself as having

acted entirely to oblige me--to give me, as a sequel to what had already

passed between us, the opportunity for which she had assured me I should

thank her before I had done with her. Yet, as I felt sure, at the same

time, that she had taken a line, I was curious as to how, in her

interest, our situation could be worked. What it had originally left us

with was her knowing I was wrong. I had promised her, on my honour, to

be candid, but even if I were disposed to cease to contest her

identification of Mrs. Server I was scarce to be looked to for such an

exhibition of gratitude as might be held to repay her for staying so

long out of bed. There were in short elements in the business that I

couldn't quite clearly see handled as favours to me. Her dress gave,

with felicity, no sign whatever of preparation for the night, and if,

since our last words, she had stood with any anxiety whatever before her

glass, it had not been to remove a jewel or to alter the place of a

flower. She was as much under arms as she had been on descending to

dinner--as fresh in her array as if that banquet were still to come. She

met me in fact as admirably--that was the truth that covered every

other--as if she had been able to guess the most particular curiosity

with which, from my end of the series of rooms, I advanced upon her.

A part of the mixture of my thoughts during these seconds had been the

possibility--absurd, preposterous though it looks when phrased here--of

some change in her person that would correspond, for me to the other

changes I had had such keen moments of flattering myself I had made out.

I had just had them over in the smoking-room, some of these differences,

and then had had time to ask myself if I were not now to be treated to

the vision of the greatest, the most wonderful, of all. I had already,

on facing her, after my last moments with Lady John, seen difference

peep out at me, and I had seen the impression of it confirmed by what

had afterwards happened. It had been in her way of turning from me after

that brief passage; it had been in her going up to bed without seeing me

again; it had been once more in her thinking, for reasons of her own,

better of that; and it had been most of all in her sending her husband

down to me. Well, wouldn't it finally be, still more than most of

all----? But I scarce had known, at this point, what grossness or what

fineness of material correspondence to forecast. I only had waited there

with these general symptoms so present that almost any further

development of them occurred to me as conceivable. So much as this was

true, but I was after a moment to become aware of something by which I

was as strongly affected as if I had been quite unprepared. Yes,

literally, that final note, in the smoking-room, the note struck in

Obert's ejaculation on poor Briss's hundred years, had failed to achieve

for me a worthy implication. I was forced, after looking at Grace

Brissenden a minute, to recognise that my imagination had not risen to

its opportunity. The full impression took a minute--a minute during

which she said nothing; then it left me deeply and above all, as I felt,

discernibly conscious of the prodigious thing, _the_ thing, I had not

thought of. This it was that gave her such a beautiful chance not to

speak: she was so quite sufficiently occupied with seeing what I hadn't

thought of, and with seeing me, to make up for lost time, breathlessly

think of it while she watched me.

All I had at first taken in was, as I say, her untouched splendour; I

don't know why that should have impressed me--as if it had been probable

she would have appeared in her dressing-gown; it was the only thing to

have expected. And it in fact plumed and enhanced her assurance,

sustained her propriety, lent our belated interview the natural and

casual note. But there was another service it still more rendered her:

it so covered, at the first blush, the real message of her aspect, that

she enjoyed the luxury--and I felt her enjoy it--of seeing my perception

in arrest. Amazing, when I think of it, the number of things that

occurred in these stayed seconds of our silence; but they are perhaps

best represented by the two most marked intensities of my own sensation:

the first the certitude that she had at no moment since her marriage so

triumphantly asserted her defeat of time, and the second the conviction

that I, losing with her while, as it were, we closed, a certain

advantage I should never recover, had at no moment since the day before

made so poor a figure on my own ground. Ah, it may have been only for

six seconds that she caught me gaping at her renewed beauty; but six

seconds, it was inevitable to feel, were quite enough for every purpose

with which she had come down to me. She might have been a large, fair,

rich, prosperous person of twenty-five; she was at any rate near enough

to it to put me for ever in my place. It was a success, on her part,

that, though I couldn't as yet fully measure it, there could be no doubt

of whatever, any more than of my somehow paying for it. Her being there

at all, at such an hour, in such conditions, became, each moment, on the

whole business, more and more a part of her advantage; the case for her

was really in almost any aspect she could now make it wear to my

imagination. My wealth of that faculty, never so stimulated, was thus,

in a manner, her strength; by which I mean the impossibility of my

indifference to the mere immense suggestiveness of our circumstances.

How can I tell now to what tune the sense of all these played into my

mind?--the huge oddity of the nameless idea on which we foregathered,

the absence and hush of everything except that idea, so magnified in

consequence and yet still, after all, altogether fantastic. There

remained for her, there spoke for her too, her vividly "unconventional"

step, the bravery of her rustling, on an understanding so difficult to

give an account of, through places and times only made safe by the sleep

of the unsuspecting. My imagination, in short, since I have spoken of

it, couldn't do other than work for her from the moment she had, so

simply yet so wonderfully, not failed me. Therefore it was all with me

again, the vision of her reasons. They were in fact sufficiently in the

sound of what she presently said. "Perhaps you don't know--but I

mentioned in the proper quarter that I should sit up a little. They're

of a kindness here, luckily----! So it's all right." It was all right,

obviously--she made it so; but she made it so as well that, in spite of

the splendour she showed me, she should be a little nervous. "We shall

only take moreover," she added, "a minute."

I should perhaps have wondered more what she proposed to do in a minute

had I not felt it as already more or less done. Yes, she might have been

twenty-five, and it was a short time for _that_ to have taken. However,

what I clutched at, what I clung to, was that it was a nervous

twenty-five. I might pay for her assurance, but wasn't there something

of mine for which _she_ might pay? I was nervous also, but, as I took in

again, with a glance through our great chain of chambers, the wonderful

conditions that protected us, I did my best to feel sure that it was

only because I was so amused. That--in so high a form--was what it came

to in the end. "I supposed," I replied, "that you'd have arranged; for,

in spite of the way things were going, I hadn't given you up. I haven't

understood, I confess," I went on, "why you've preferred a conference so

intensely nocturnal--of which I quite feel, however, that, if it has

happened to suit you, it isn't for me to complain. But I felt sure of

you--that was the great thing--from the moment, half an hour ago, you so

kindly spoke to me. I gave you, you see," I laughed, "what's called

'rope.'"

"I don't suppose you mean," she exclaimed, "for me to hang myself!--for

that, I assure you, is not at all what I'm prepared for." Then she

seemed again to give me the magnificence of her youth. It wasn't,

throughout, I was to feel, that she at all had abysses of irony, for she

in fact happily needed none. Her triumph was in itself ironic enough,

and all her point in her sense of her freshness. "Were you really so

impatient?" But as I inevitably hung fire a little she continued before

I could answer; which somewhat helped me indeed by showing the one flaw

in her confidence. More extraordinary perhaps than anything else,

moreover, was just my perception of this; which gives the value of all

that each of us so visibly felt the other to have put together, to have

been making out and gathering in, since we parted, on the terrace, after

seeing Mrs. Server and Briss come up from under their tree. We _had_, of

a truth, arrived at our results--though mine were naturally the ones for

me to believe in; and it was prodigious that we openly met not at all

where we had last left each other, but exactly on what our subsequent

suppressed processes had achieved. We hadn't named them--hadn't alluded

to them, and we couldn't, no doubt, have done either; but they were none

the less intensely there between us, with the whole bright, empty scene

given up to them. Only she had her shrewd sense that mine, for reasons,

might have been still more occult than her own. Hadn't I possibly

burrowed the deeper--to come out in some uncalculated place behind her

back? That was the flaw in her confidence. She had in spite of it her

firm ground, and I could feel, to do her justice, how different a

complacency it was from such smug ignorance as Lady John's. If I didn't

fear to seem to drivel about my own knowledge I should say that she had,

in addition to all the rest of her "pull," the benefit of striking me as

worthy of me. She was _in_ the mystic circle--not one of us more; she

knew the size of it; and it was our now being in it alone together, with

everyone else out and with the size greater than it had yet been at

all--it was this that gave the hour, in fine, so sharp a stamp.

But she had meanwhile taken up my allusion to her having preferred so to

wait. "I wanted to see you quietly; which was what I tried--not

altogether successfully, it rather struck me at the moment--to make you

understand when I let you know about it. You stared so that I didn't

quite know what was the matter. Nothing could be quiet, I saw, till the

going to bed was over, and I felt it coming off then from one minute to

the other. I didn't wish publicly to be called away for it from this

putting of our heads together, and, though you may think me absurd, I

had a dislike to having our question of May up so long as she was

hanging about. I knew of course that she would hang about till the very

last moment, and that was what I perhaps a little clumsily--if it was my

own fault!--made the effort to convey to you. She may be hanging about

still," Mrs. Briss continued, with her larger look round--her looks

round were now immense; "but at any rate I shall have done what I could.

I had a feeling--perfectly preposterous, I admit!--against her seeing us

together; but if she comes down again, as I've so boldly done, and finds

us, she'll have no one but herself to thank. It's a funny house, for

that matter," my friend rambled on, "and I'm not sure that anyone _has_

gone to bed. One does what one likes; I'm an old woman, at any rate, and

_I_ do!" She explained now, she explained too much, she abounded,

talking herself stoutly into any assurance that failed her. I had

meanwhile with every word she uttered a sharper sense of the pressure,

behind them all, of a new consciousness. It was full of everything she

didn't say, and what she said was no representation whatever of what was

most in her mind. We had indeed taken a jump since noon--we had indeed

come out further on. Just this fine dishonesty of her eyes,

moreover--the light of a part to play, the excitement (heaven knows what

it struck me as being!) of a happy duplicity--may well have been what

contributed most to her present grand air.

It was in any case what evoked for me most the contrasted image, so

fresh with me, of the other, the tragic lady--the image that had so

embodied the unutterable opposite of everything actually before me. What

was actually before me was the positive pride of life and expansion, the

amplitude of conscious action and design; not the arid channel forsaken

by the stream, but the full-fed river sweeping to the sea, the volume of

water, the stately current, the flooded banks into which the source had

swelled. There was nothing Mrs. Server had been able to risk, but there

was a rich indifference to risk in the mere carriage of Grace

Brissenden's head. Her reference, for that matter, to our discussed

subject had the effect of relegating to the realm of dim shades the lady

representing it, and there was small soundness in her glance at the

possibility on the part of this person of an anxious prowl back. There

was indeed--there could be--small sincerity in any immediate

demonstration from a woman so markedly gaining time and getting her

advantages in hand. The connections between the two, certainly, were

indirect and intricate, but it was positive to me that, for the

spiritual ear, my companion's words had the sound of a hard bump, a

contact from the force of which the weaker vessel might have been felt

to crack. At last, merciful powers, it was in pieces! The shock of the

brass had told upon the porcelain, and I fancied myself for an instant

facing Mrs. Briss over the damage--a damage from which I was never, as I

knew, to see the poor banished ghost recover. As strange as anything was

this effect almost of surprise for me in the freedom of her mention of

"May." For what had she come to me, if for anything, but to insist on

her view of May, and what accordingly was more to the point than to

mention her? Yet it was almost already as if to mention her had been to

get rid of her. She was mentioned, however, inevitably and none the less

promptly, anew--even as if simply to receive a final shake before being

quite dropped. My friend kept it up. "If you were so bent on not losing

what I might have to give you that you fortunately stuck to the ship,

for poor Briss to pick you up, wasn't this also"--she roundly put it to

me--"a good deal because you've been nursing all day the grievance with

which I this morning so comfortably furnished you?"

I just waited, but fairly for admiration. "Oh, I certainly had my

reasons--as I've no less certainly had my luck--for not indeed deserting

our dear little battered, but still just sufficiently buoyant vessel,

from which everyone else appears, I recognise, to _s'etre sauve_. She'll

float a few minutes more! But (before she sinks!) do you mean by my

grievance----"

"Oh, you know what I mean by your grievance!" _She_ had no intention,

Mrs. Briss, of sinking. "I was to give you time to make up your mind

that Mrs. Server was our lady. You so resented, for some reason, my

suggesting it that I scarcely believed you'd consider it at all; only I

hadn't forgotten, when I spoke to you a while since, that you had

nevertheless handsomely promised me that you would do your best."

"Yes, and, still more handsomely, that if I changed my mind, I would

eat, in your presence, for my error, the largest possible slice of

humble pie. If you didn't see this morning," I continued, "quite why I

should have cared so much, so I don't quite see why, in your different

way, _you_ should; at the same time that I do full justice to the good

faith with which you've given me my chance. Please believe that if I

_could_ candidly embrace that chance I should feel all the joy in the

world in repaying you. It's only, alas! because I cling to my candour

that I venture to disappoint you. If I cared this morning it was really

simple enough. You didn't convince me, but I should have cared just as

much if you had. I only didn't see what _you_ saw. I needed more than

you could then give me. I knew, you see, what I needed--I mean before I

struck! It was the element of collateral support that we both lacked. I

couldn't do without it as you could. This was what I, clumsily enough,

tried to show you I felt. You, on your side," I pursued, "grasped

admirably the evident truth that that element _could_ be present only in

such doses as practically to escape detection." I kept it up as she had

done, and I remember striking myself as scarce less excitedly voluble. I

was conscious of being at a point at which I should have to go straight,

to go fast, to go it, as the phrase is, blind, in order to go at all. I

was also conscious--and it came from the look with which she listened to

me and that told me more than she wished--I felt sharply, though but

instinctively, in fine, that I should still, whatever I practically had

lost, make my personal experience most rich and most complete by putting

it definitely to her that, sorry as I might be not to oblige her, I

had, even at this hour, no submission to make. I doubted in fact whether

my making one _would_ have obliged her; but I felt that, for all so much

had come and gone, I was not there to take, for her possible profit, any

new tone with her. She would sufficiently profit, at the worst, by the

old. My old motive--old with the prodigious antiquity the few hours had

given it--had quite left me; I seemed to myself to know little now of my

desire to "protect" Mrs. Server. She was certainly, with Mrs. Briss at

least, past all protection; and the conviction had grown with me, in

these few minutes, that there was now no rag of the queer truth that

Mrs. Briss hadn't secretly--by which I meant morally--handled. But I

none the less, on a perfectly simple reasoning, stood to my guns, and

with no sense whatever, I must add, of now breaking my vow of the

morning. I had made another vow since then--made it to the poor lady

herself as we sat together in the wood; passed my word to _her_ that

there was no approximation I pretended even to myself to have made. How

then was I to pretend to Mrs. Briss, and what facts _had_ I collected on

which I could respectably ground an acknowledgment to her that I had

come round to her belief? If I had "caught" our incriminated pair

together--really together--even for three minutes, I would, I sincerely

considered, have come round. But I was to have performed this

revolution on nothing less, as I now went on to explain to her. "Of

course if you've got new evidence I shall be delighted to hear it; and

of course I can't help wondering whether the possession of it and the

desire to overwhelm me with it aren't, together, the one thing you've

been nursing till now."

Oh, how intensely she didn't like such a tone! If she hadn't looked so

handsome I would say she made a wry face over it, though I didn't even

yet see where her dislike would make her come out. Before she came out,

in fact, she waited as if it were a question of dashing her head at a

wall. Then, at last, she charged. "It's nonsense. I've nothing to tell

you. I feel there's nothing in it and I've given it up."

I almost gaped--by which I mean that I looked as if I did--for surprise.

"You agree that it's not she----?" Then, as she again waited, "It's

_you_ who've come round?" I insisted.

"To your doubt of its being May? Yes--I've come round."

"Ah, pardon me," I returned; "what I expressed this morning was, if I

remember rightly, not at all a 'doubt,' but a positive, intimate

conviction that was inconsistent with _any_ doubt. I was

emphatic--purely and simply--that I didn't see it."

She looked, however, as if she caught me in a weakness here. "Then why

did you say to me that if you should reconsider----"

"You should handsomely have it from me, and my grounds? Why, as I've

just reminded you, as a form of courtesy to you--magnanimously to help

you, as it were, to feel as comfortable as I conceived you naturally

would desire to feel in your own conviction. Only for that. And now," I

smiled, "I'm to understand from you that, in spite of that immense

allowance, you _haven't_, all this while, felt comfortable?"

She gave, on this, in a wonderful, beautiful way, a slow, simplifying

headshake. "Mrs. Server isn't in it!"

The only way then to take it from her was that her concession was a

prelude to something still better; and when I had given her time to see

this dawn upon me I had my eagerness and I jumped into the breathless.

"You've made out then who _is_?"

"Oh, I don't make out, you know," she laughed, "so much as you! _She_

isn't," she simply repeated.

I looked at it, on my inspiration, quite ruefully--almost as if I now

wished, after all, she were. "Ah, but, do you know? it really strikes me

you make out marvels. You made out this morning quite what I couldn't. I

hadn't put together anything so extraordinary as that--in the total

absence of everything--it _should_ have been our friend."

Mrs. Briss appeared, on her side, to take in the intention of this.

"What do you mean by the total absence? When I made my mistake," she

declared as if in the interest of her dignity, "I didn't think

everything absent."

"I see," I admitted. "I see," I thoughtfully repeated. "And do you,

then, think everything now?"

"I had my honest impression of the moment," she pursued as if she had

not heard me. "There were appearances that, as it at the time struck me,

fitted."

"Precisely"--and I recalled for her the one she had made most of. "There

was in especial the appearance that she was at a particular moment using

Brissenden to show whom she was not using. You felt _then_," I ventured

to observe, "the force of that."

I ventured less than, already, I should have liked to venture; yet I

none the less seemed to see her try on me the effect of the intimation

that I was going far. "Is it your wish," she inquired with much

nobleness, "to confront me, to my confusion, with my inconsistency?" Her

nobleness offered itself somehow as such a rebuke to my mere logic that,

in my momentary irritation, I might have been on the point of assenting

to her question. This imminence of my assent, justified by my horror of

her huge egotism, but justified by nothing else and precipitating

everything, seemed as marked for these few seconds as if we each had our

eyes on it. But I sat so tight that the danger passed, leaving my

silence to do what it could for my manners. She proceeded meanwhile to

add a very handsome account of her own. "You should do me the justice to

recognise how little I need have spoken another word to you, and how

little, also, this amiable explanation to you is in the interest of

one's natural pride. It seems to me I've come to you here altogether in

the interest of _yours_. You talk about humble pie, but I think that,

upon my word--with all I've said to you--it's I who have had to eat it.

The magnanimity you speak of," she continued with all her grandeur--"I

really don't see, either, whose it is but mine. I don't see what account

of anything I'm in any way obliged to give."

I granted it quickly and without reserve. "You're not obliged to give

any--you're quite right: you do it only because you're such a large,

splendid creature. I quite feel that, beside you"--I did, at least,

treat myself to the amusement of saying--"I move in a tiny circle.

Still, I won't have it"--I could also, again, keep it up--"that our

occasion has nothing for you but the taste of abasement. You gulp your

mouthful down, but hasn't it been served on gold plate? You've had a

magnificent day--a brimming cup of triumph, and you're more beautiful

and fresh, after it all, and at an hour when fatigue would be almost

positively graceful, than you were even this morning, when you met me as

a daughter of the dawn. That's the sort of sense," I laughed, "that

must sustain a woman!" And I wound up on a complete recovery of my

good-humour. "No, no. I thank you--thank you immensely. But I don't pity

you. You can afford to lose." I wanted her perplexity--the proper sharp

dose of it--to result both from her knowing and her not knowing

sufficiently what I meant; and when I in fact saw how perplexed she

could be and how little, again, she could enjoy it, I felt anew my

private wonder at her having cared and dared to meet me. Where _was_

enjoyment, for her, where the insolence of success, if the breath of

irony could chill them? Why, since she was bold, should she be

susceptible, and how, since she was susceptible, could she be bold? I

scarce know what, at this moment, determined the divination; but

everything, the distinct and the dim alike, had cleared up the next

instant at the touch of the real truth. The certitude of the source of

my present opportunity had rolled over me before we exchanged another

word. The source was simply Gilbert Long, and she was there because he

had directed it. This connection hooked itself, like a sudden picture

and with a click that fairly resounded through our empty rooms, into the

array of the other connections, to the immense enrichment, as it was

easy to feel, of the occasion, and to the immense confirmation of the

very idea that, in the course of the evening, I had come near dismissing

from my mind as too fantastic even for the rest of the company it

should enjoy there. What I now was sure of flashed back, at any rate,

every syllable of sense I could have desired into the suggestion I had,

after the music, caught from the juxtaposition of these two. Thus

solidified, this conviction, it spread and spread to a distance greater

than I could just then traverse under Mrs. Briss's eyes, but which,

exactly for that reason perhaps, quickened my pride in the kingdom of

thought I had won. I was really not to have felt more, in the whole

business, than I felt at this moment that by my own right hand I had

gained the kingdom. Long and she were together, and I was alone thus in

face of them, but there was none the less not a single flower of the

garden that my woven wreath should lack.

I must have looked queer to my friend as I grinned to myself over this

vow; but my relish of the way I was keeping things together made me

perhaps for the instant unduly rash. I cautioned myself, however,

fortunately, before it could leave her--scared a little, all the same,

even with Long behind her--an advantage to take, and, in infinitely less

time than I have needed to tell it, I had achieved my flight into

luminous ether and, alighting gracefully on my feet, reported myself at

my post. I had in other words taken in both the full prodigy of the

_entente_ between Mrs. Server's lover and poor Briss's wife, and the

finer strength it gave the last-named as the representative of their

interest. I may add too that I had even taken time fairly not to decide

which of these two branches of my vision--that of the terms of their

intercourse, or that of their need of it--was likely to prove, in

delectable retrospect, the more exquisite. All this, I admit, was a good

deal to have come and gone while my privilege trembled, in its very

essence, in the scale. Mrs. Briss had but a back to turn, and everything

was over. She had, in strictness, already uttered what saved her honour,

and her revenge on impertinence might easily be her withdrawing with one

of her sweeps. I couldn't certainly in that case hurry after her without

spilling my cards. As my accumulations of lucidity, however, were now

such as to defy all leakage, I promptly recognised the facilities

involved in a superficial sacrifice; and with one more glance at the

beautiful fact that she knew the strength of Long's hand, I again went

steadily and straight. She was acting not only for herself, and since

she had another also to serve and, as I was sure, report to, I should

sufficiently hold her. I knew moreover that I held her as soon as I had

begun afresh. "I don't mean that anything alters the fact that you lose

gracefully. It _is_ awfully charming, your thus giving yourself up, and

yet, justified as I am by it, I can't help regretting a little the

excitement I found it this morning to pull a different way from you.

Shall I tell you," it suddenly came to me to put to her, "what, for

some reason, a man feels aware of?" And then as, guarded, still uneasy,

she would commit herself to no permission: "That pulling against you

also had its thrill. You defended your cause. Oh," I quickly added, "I

know--who should know better?--that it was bad. Only--what shall I

say?--_you_ weren't bad, and one had to fight. And then there was what

one was fighting for! Well, you're not bad now, either; so that you may

ask me, of course, what more I want." I tried to think a moment. "It

isn't that, thrown back on the comparative dullness of security, I

find--as people have been known to--my own cause less good: no, it isn't

that." After which I had my illumination. "I'll tell you what it is:

it's the come-down of ceasing to work with you!"

She looked as if she were quite excusable for not following me. "To

'work'?"

I immediately explained. "Even fighting was working, for we struck,

you'll remember, sparks, and sparks were what we wanted. There we are

then," I cheerfully went on. "Sparks are what we still want, and you've

not come to me, I trust, with a mere spent match. I depend upon it that

you've another to strike." I showed her without fear all I took for

granted. "Who, then, _has_?"

She was superb in her coldness, but her stare was partly blank. "Who

then has what?"

"Why, done it." And as even at this she didn't light I gave her

something of a jog. "You haven't, with the force of your revulsion, I

hope, literally lost our thread." But as, in spite of my thus waiting

for her to pick it up she did nothing, I offered myself as fairly

stooping to the carpet for it and putting it back in her hand. "Done

what we spent the morning wondering at. Who then, if it isn't,

certainly, Mrs. Server, _is_ the woman who has made Gilbert Long--well,

what you know?"

I had needed the moment to take in the special shade of innocence she

was by this time prepared to show me. It was an innocence, in

particular, in respect to the relation of anyone, in all the vast

impropriety of things, to anyone. "I'm afraid I know nothing."

I really wondered an instant how she could expect help from such

extravagance. "But I thought you just recognised that you do enjoy the

sense of your pardonable mistake. You knew something when you knew

enough to see you had made it."

She faced me as with the frank perception that, of whatever else one

might be aware, I abounded in traps, and that this would probably be one

of my worst. "Oh, I think one generally knows when one has made a

mistake."

"That's all then I invite you--_a_ mistake, as you properly call it--to

allow me to impute to you. I'm not accusing you of having made fifty.

You made none whatever, I hold, when you agreed with me with such

eagerness about the striking change in him."

She affected me as asking herself a little, on this, whether vagueness,

the failure of memory, the rejection of nonsense, mightn't still serve

her. But she saw the next moment a better way. It all came back to her,

but from so very far off. "The change, do you mean, in poor Mr. Long?"

"Of what other change--except, as you may say, your own--have you met me

here to speak of? Your own, I needn't remind you, is part and parcel of

Long's."

"Oh, my own," she presently returned, "is a much simpler matter even

than that. My own is the recognition that I just expressed to you and

that I can't consent, if you please, to your twisting into the

recognition of anything else. It's the recognition that I know nothing

of any other change. I stick, if you'll allow me, to my ignorance."

"I'll allow you with joy," I laughed, "if you'll let me stick to it

_with_ you. Your own change is quite sufficient--it gives us all we

need. It will give us, if we retrace the steps of it, everything,

everything!"

Mrs. Briss considered. "I don't quite see, do I? why, at this hour of

the night, we should begin to retrace steps."

"Simply because it's the hour of the night you've happened, in your

generosity and your discretion, to choose. I'm struck, I confess," I

declared with a still sharper conviction, "with the wonderful charm of

it for our purpose."

"And, pray, what do you call with such solemnity," she inquired, "our

purpose?"

I had fairly recovered at last--so far from being solemn--an appropriate

gaiety. "I can only, with positiveness, answer for mine! That has

remained all day the same--to get at the truth: not, that is, to relax

my grasp of that tip of the tail of it which you so helped me this

morning to fasten to. If you've ceased to _care_ to help me," I pursued,

"that's a difference indeed. But why," I candidly, pleadingly asked,

"_should_ you cease to care?" It was more and more of a comfort to feel

her imprisoned in her inability really to explain her being there. To

show herself as she was explained it only so far as she could express

that; which was just the freedom she could least take. "What on earth is

between us, anyhow," I insisted, "but our confounded interest? That's

only quickened, for me, don't you see? by the charming way you've come

round; and I don't see how it can logically be anything less than

quickened for yourself. We're like the messengers and heralds in the

tale of Cinderella, and I protest, I assure you, against any sacrifice

of our denoument. We've still the glass shoe to fit."

I took pleasure at the moment in my metaphor; but this was not the

case, I soon enough perceived, with my companion. "How can I tell,

please," she demanded, "what you consider you're talking about?"

I smiled; it was so quite the question Ford Obert, in the smoking-room,

had begun by putting me. I hadn't to take time to remind myself how I

had dealt with _him_. "And you knew," I sighed, "so beautifully, you

glowed over it so, this morning!" She continued to give me, in every

way, her disconnection from this morning, so that I had only to proceed:

"You've not availed yourself of this occasion to pretend to me that poor

Mr. Long, as you call him, is, after all, the same limited person----"

"That he always was, and that you, yesterday, so suddenly discovered him

to have ceased to be?"--for with this she had waked up. But she was

still thinking how she could turn it. "You see too much."

"Oh, I know I do--ever so much too much. And much as I see, I express

only half of it--so you may judge!" I laughed. "But what will you have?

I see what I see, and this morning, for a good bit, you did me the

honour to do the same. I returned, also, the compliment, didn't I? by

seeing something of what _you_ saw. We put it, the whole thing,

together, and we shook the bottle hard. I'm to take from you, after

this," I wound up, "that what it contains is a perfectly colourless

fluid?"

I paused for a reply, but it was not to come so happily as from Obert.

"You talk too much!" said Mrs. Briss.