Page:The Wings of the Dove (New York, Charles Scribners Sons, 1902), Volume 2.djvu/425

 his letter behind him. What he thus finally spoke of was a different matter. "Did I understand from Mrs. Lowder that your father's in the house?"

If it never had taken her long, in such excursions, to meet him, it was not to take her so now. "In the house, yes. But we needn't fear his interruption"—she spoke as if he had thought of that. "He's in bed."

"Do you mean with illness?"

She sadly shook her head. "Father's never ill. He's a marvel. He's only endless."

Densher thought. "Can I, in any way, help you with him?"

"Yes." She perfectly, wearily, almost serenely, had it all. "By our making your visit as little of an affair as possible for him—and for Marian too."

"I see. They hate so your seeing me. Yet I couldn't—could I?—not have come."

"No, you couldn't not have come."

"But I can only, on the other hand, go as soon as possible?"

Quickly, it almost upset her. "Ah, don't, to-day, put ugly words into my mouth. I've enough of my trouble without it."

"I know—I know!" He spoke in instant pleading. "It's all, only, that I'm as troubled for you. When did he come?"

"Three days ago—after he had not been near her for more than a year, after he had apparently, and not regrettably, ceased to remember her existence; 415