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Updated: May 29, 2025
Mitchy said in amusement at his start. "She's not ill, that I know of, thank goodness, and she hasn't broken her leg. But something, none the less, has happened to her that I think I may say. To tell you all in a word, it's the reason, such as it is, of my being here to meet you. Mrs. Brook asked me to wait. She'll see you herself some other time." Mr. Longdon wondered. "And Nanda too?"
If Mitchy wants to do something thoroughly nice," she declared with the same high competence, "he'll take her out of her situation, which is awful." Mr. Longdon looked graver. "In what way awful?" "Why, don't you know?" His eye was now cold enough to give her, in her chill, a flurried sense that she might displease him least by a graceful lightness.
But Vanderbank, with another thought, had lost the thread. "Find out what?" "Why if she does get anything !" "If I'm not kind ENOUGH?" Van had caught up again. "Dear no; I'd rather you shouldn't speak unless first spoken to." "Well, HE may speak since he knows we know." "It isn't likely, for he can't make out why I told you." "You didn't tell ME, you know," said Mitchy. "You told Mrs. Brook."
She does know too much," she added. "Well," said Mitchy with resolution, "it's all my fault." "Not ALL unless," Mrs. Brook returned, "that's only a sweet way of saying that it's mostly mine." "Oh yours too immensely; in fact every one's. Even Edward's, I dare say; and certainly, unmistakably, Harold's. Ah and Van's own rather!"
Mitchy, on the sofa, received with meditation a light. "Will she understand? She has everything in the world but one," he added. "But that's half." Vanderbank, before him, lighted for himself. "What is it?" "A sense of humour." "Oh yes, she's serious." Mitchy smoked a little. "She's tragic."
At this he laughed out. "Wait till you see what Mr. Longdon does!" But she took no notice. "I want you to see before I go that I've done nothing for myself. Van, after all !" she mused. "Well?" "Only hates me. It isn't as with you," she said. "I've really lost him." Mitchy for an instant, with the eyes that had shown his tears, glared away into space.
"Can't you, CAN'T you?" He spoke pressingly and kept her hand. She shook her head slowly, markedly; on which he continued: "You don't do justice to Mr. Mitchy." She said nothing, but her look was there and it made him resume: "Impossible?" "Impossible." At this, letting her go, Mr. Longden got up; he pulled out his watch. "We must go back."
His greeting of the visitor before edging past and away was, however, of the briefest; it might have implied that they had met but yesterday. "How d'ye do, Mitchy? At home? Oh rather!" Very different was Mrs.
Mitchett!" the butler, appearing at the door, almost familiarly dropped; after which Vanderbank turned straight to the person announced. Mr. Mitchett was there, and, anticipating Mrs. Brook in receiving him, her companion passed it straighten. "She's magnificent!" Mitchy was already all interest. "Rather! But what's her last?"
Mitchy was honestly surprised. "I rather liked the one in the pink cover what's the confounded thing called? I thought it had a sort of a something-or-other." He had cast his eye about as if for a glimpse of the forgotten title, and she caught the question as he vaguely and good-humouredly dropped it. "A kind of a morbid modernity? There IS that," she dimly conceded. "Is that what they call it?
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