er would. You must have wonderful notions," she presently
went on, "of the ideal state of union. I pack every one off for you--I
banish everything that can interfere, and I don't in the least mind your
knowing that I find the consequence delightful. YOU may talk, if you
like, of what will have passed between us, but I shall never mention
it to a soul; literally not to a living creature. What do you want more
than that?" He opened his eyes in deference to the question, but replied
only with a gaze as unassisted as if it had come through a hole in
a curtain. "You say you're ready for an adventure, and it's just an
adventure that I propose. If I can make you feel for yourself as I feel
for you the beauty of your chance to go in and save her--!"

"Well, if you can--?" Mitchy at last broke in. "I don't think, you
know," he said after a moment, "you'll find it easy to make your two
ends meet."

She thought a little longer. "One of the ends is yours, so that you'll
act WITH me. If I wind you up so that you go--!"

"You'll just happily sit and watch me spin? Thank you! THAT will be my
reward?"

Nanda rose on this from her chair as with the impulse of protest.
"Shan't you care for my gratitude, my admiration?"

"Oh yes"--Mitchy seemed to muse. "I shall care for THEM. Yet I don't
quite see, you know, what you OWE to Aggie. It isn't as if--!" But with
this he faltered.

"As if she cared particularly for ME? Ah that has nothing to do with
it; that's a thing without which surely it's but too possible to be
exquisite. There are beautiful, quite beautiful people who don't care
for me. The thing that's important to one is the thing one sees one's
self, and it's quite enough if _I_ see what can be made of that child.
Marry her, Mitchy, and you'll see who she'll care for!"

Mitchy kept his position; he was for the moment--his image of shortly
before reversed--the one who appeared to sit happily and watch. "It's
too awfully pleasant your asking of me anything whatever!"

"Well then, as I say, beautifully, grandly save her."

"As you say, yes"--he sympathetically inclined his head. "But without
making me feel exactly what you mean by it."

"Keep her," Nanda returned, "from becoming like the Duchess."

"But she isn't a bit like the Duchess in any of her elements. She's a
totally different thing."

It was only for an instant, however, that this objection seemed to
tell. "That's exactly why she'll be so perfect for you. You'll g