The Wings of the Dove, Volume 2

'That hadn't prevented her—as you yourself a moment ago said—during the previous time. If it had been only illness it would have made no difference with her.'

'She would still have received you?'

'She would still have received me.'

'Oh well,' said Kate, 'if you know—!'

'Of course I know. I know moreover as well from Mrs. Stringham.'

'And what does Mrs. Stringham know?'

'Everything.'

She looked at him longer. 'Everything?'

'Everything.'

'Because you've told her?'

'Because she has seen for herself. I've told her nothing. She's a person who does see.'

Kate thought. 'That's by her liking you too. She as well is prodigious. You see what interest in a man does. It does it all round. So you needn't be afraid.'

'I'm not afraid,' said Densher.

Kate moved from her place then, looking at the clock, which marked five. She gave her attention to the tea- table, where Aunt Maud's huge silver kettle, which had been exposed to its lamp and which she had not soon enough noticed, was hissing too hard. 'Well, it's all most wonderful!' she exclaimed as she rather too profusely—a sign her friend noticed—ladled tea into the pot. He watched her a moment at this occupation, coming nearer the table while she put in the steaming water. 'You'll have some?'

He hesitated. 'Hadn't we better wait—?'

'For Aunt Maud?' She saw what he meant—the deprecation, by their old law, of betrayals of the intimate note. 'Oh you needn't mind now. We've done it!'

'Humbugged her?'

'Squared her. You've pleased her.'

Densher mechanically accepted his tea. He was thinking of something else, and his thought in a moment came out. 'What a brute then I must be!'

'A brute—?'

'To have pleased so many people.'

'Ah,' said Kate with a gleam of gaiety, 'you've done it to please me.' But she was already, with her gleam, reverting a little. 'What I don't understand is—won't you have any sugar?'

'Yes, please.'

'What I don't understand,' she went on when she had helped him, 'is what it was that had occurred to bring her round again. If she gave you up for days and days, what brought her back to you?'

She asked the question with her own cup in her hand, but it found him ready enough in spite of his sense of the ironic oddity of their going into it over the tea-table. 'It was Sir Luke Strett who brought her back. His visit, his presence there did it.'

'He brought her back then to life.'

'Well, to what I saw.'

'And by interceding for you?'

'I don't think he interceded. I don't indeed know what he did.'

Kate wondered. 'Didn't he tell you?'

'I didn't ask him. I met him again, but we practically didn't speak of her.'

Kate stared. 'Then how do you know?'

'I see. I feel. I was with him again as I had been before—'

'Oh and you pleased him too? That was it?'

'He understood,' said Densher.

'But understood what?'

He waited a moment. 'That I had meant awfully well.'

'Ah, and made her understand? I see,' she went on as he said nothing. 'But how did he convince her?'

Densher put down his cup and turned away. 'You must ask Sir Luke.'

He stood looking at the fire and there was a time without sound. 'The great thing,' Kate then resumed, 'is that she's satisfied. Which,' she continued, looking across at him, 'is what I've worked for.'

'Satisfied to die in the flower of her youth?'

'Well, at peace with you.'