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Stringham mused as she once more sat alone with a hooked needle and a ball of silk, the "fine" work with which she was always provided this mystifying mood had simply been precipitated, no doubt, by their prolonged halt, with which the girl hadn't really been in sympathy. One had only to admit that her complaint was in fact but the excess of the joy of life, and everything did then fit.
Stringham by this time out of the question; she had reduced it to Milly. "Besides, she particularly likes us. She particularly likes you. I say, old boy, make something of that."
It came from him, the question, straight out of the intensity of relation and the face-to-face necessity into which, from the first, from his entering the room, they had found themselves thrown; but it gave them their most extraordinary moment. "Wait till she is dead! Mrs. Stringham," Kate added, "is to telegraph."
Milly drew the feet of water, and odd though it might seem that a lonely girl, who was not robust and who hated sound and show, should stir the stream like a leviathan, her companion floated off with the sense of rocking violently at her side. More than prepared, however, for that excitement, Mrs. Stringham mainly failed of ease in respect to her own consistency.
And won't you now bring Mrs. Stringham?" But Milly after an instant was again clear about that. "Not till I've seen him once more."
"My dear," the girl presently said, "I don't 'want, as I assure you, anything. Still," she added, "I am living. Oh yes, I'm living." It put them again face to face, but it had wound Mrs. Stringham up. "So am I then, you'll see!" she spoke with the note of her recovery. Yet it was her wisdom now meaning by it as much as she did not to say more than that.
"Then what becomes of Miss Theale?" "What I tell you. She stays on, and you stay with her." He stared. "All alone?" She had a smile that was apparently for his tone. "You're old enough with plenty of Mrs. Stringham."
"What has Mrs. Lowder written about him? Has she written that he has been with them?" "She has mentioned him but once it was in her letter before the last. Then she said something." "And what did she say?" Mrs. Stringham produced it with an effort. "Well it was in reference to Miss Croy. That she thought Kate was thinking of him.
Stringham, before adjourning with her, had gone off for some shawl or other accessory, and Kate, as if a little impatient for their withdrawal, had wandered out to the balcony, where she hovered, for the time, unseen, though with scarce more to look at than the dim London stars and the cruder glow, up the street, on a corner, of a small public-house, in front of which a fagged cab-horse was thrown into relief.
I don't quite make out how you know I did see him alone." "No you never told me," said Milly. "And I don't mean," she went on, "during the twenty-four hours while I was bad, when your putting your heads together was natural enough. I mean after I was better the last thing before you went home." Mrs. Stringham continued to wonder. "Who told you I saw him then?"
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