another look, laid a mild hand on his shoulder.
"What is it you mind?"

"From HIM? Oh nothing!" He could trust himself again. "There are people
like that--great cases of privilege."

"He IS one!" Mr. Longdon mused.

"There it is. They go through life somehow guaranteed. They can't help
pleasing."

"Ah," Mr. Longdon murmured, "if it hadn't been for that--!"

"They hold, they keep every one," Mitchy went on. "It's the sacred
terror."

The companions for a little seemed to stand together in this element;
after which the elder turned once more away and appeared to continue to
walk in it. "Poor Nanda!" then, in a far-off sigh, came across from him
to Mitchy. Mitchy on this turned vaguely round to the fire, into which
he remained gazing till he heard again Mr. Longdon's voice. "I knew
it of course after all. It was what I came up to town for. That night,
before you went abroad, at Mrs. Grendon's--"

"Yes?"--Mitchy was with him again.

"Well, made me see the future. It was then already too late."

Mitchy assented with emphasis. "Too late. She was spoiled for him."

If Mr. Longdon had to take it he took it at least quietly, only saying
after a time: "And her mother ISN'T?"

"Oh yes. Quite."

"And does Mrs. Brook know it?"

"Yes, but doesn't mind. She resembles you and me. She 'still likes'
him."

"But what good will that do her?"

Mitchy sketched a shrug. "What good does it do US?"

Mr. Longdon thought. "We can at least respect ourselves."

"CAN we?" Mitchy smiled.

"And HE can respect us," his friend, as if not hearing him, went on.

Mitchy seemed almost to demur. "He must think we're 'rum.'"

"Well, Mrs. Brook's worse than rum. He can't respect HER."

"Oh that will be perhaps," Mitchy laughed, "what she'll get just most
out of!" It was the first time of Mr. Longdon's showing that even after
a minute he had not understood him; so that as quickly as possible he
passed to another point. "If you do anything may I be in it?"

"But what can I do? If it's over it's over."

"For HIM, yes. But not for her or for you or for me."

"Oh I'm not for long!" the old man wearily said, turning the next moment
to the door, at which one of the footmen had appeared.

"Mrs. Brookenham's compliments, please sir," this messenger articulated,
"and Miss Brookenham is now alone."

"Thanks--I'll come up."

The servant withdrew, and the eyes of the two visitors again met for
a minute, after which Mitchy looked about for