unfringed, unfingered, that the listening stillness, strained
into pauses and waits, would again and again, for years, have kept
distinct, she also wondered what she would eventually decide upon to
present in gratitude. She would give something better at least than the
brawny Victorian bronzes. This was precisely an instance of what she
felt he knew of her before he had done with her: that she was secretly
romancing at that rate, in the midst of so much else that was more
urgent, all over the place. So much for her secrets with him, none of
which really required to be phrased. It would have been, for example, a
secret for her from any one else that without a dear lady she had
picked up just before coming over she wouldn't have a decently near
connection, of any sort, for such an appeal as she was making, to put
forward: no one in the least, as it were, to produce for
respectability. But _his_ seeing it she didn't mind a scrap, and not a
scrap either his knowing how she had left the dear lady in the dark.
She had come alone, putting her friend off with a fraud: giving a
pretext of shops, of a whim, of she didn't know what--the amusement of
being for once in the streets by herself. The streets by herself were
new to her--she had always had in them a companion, or a maid; and he
was never to believe, moreover, that she couldn't take full in the face
anything he might have to say. He was softly amused at her account of
her courage; though he yet showed it somehow without soothing her too
grossly. Still, he did want to know whom she had. Hadn't there been a
lady with her on Wednesday?

"Yes--a different one. Not the one who's travelling with me. I've told
_her."_

Distinctly he was amused, and it added to his air--the greatest charm
of all--of giving her lots of time. "You've told her what?"

"Well," said Milly, "that I visit you in secret."

"And how many persons will she tell?"

"Oh, she's devoted. Not one."

"Well, if she's devoted doesn't that make another friend for you?"

It didn't take much computation, but she nevertheless had to think a
moment, conscious as she was that he distinctly _would_ want to fill
out his notion of her--even a little, as it were, to warm the air for
her. That, however--and better early than late--he must accept as of no
use; and she herself felt for an instant quite a competent certainty on
the subject of any such warming. The air, for Milly Theale, was, from
the very nature of the c