BOOK THIRD: MR. LONGDON
"I think I can see another too," she observed after a moment. "You're not sure how much I shall understand. But I shall understand," she went on, "more, perhaps, than you think. In fact," she said earnestly, "I promise to understand. I've some imagination. Had my grandmother?" she asked. Her actual sequences were not rapid, but she had already anticipated him. "I've thought of that before, because I put the same question to mother."
"And what did your mother say?"
"'Imagination—dear mamma? Not a grain!'"
The old man showed a faint Hush. "Your mother then has a supply that makes up for it."
The girl fixed him, on this, with a deeper attention. "You don't like her having said that."
His color came stronger, though a slightly strained smile did what it could to diffuse coolness. "I don't care a single scrap, my dear, in respect to the friend I'm speaking of, for any judgment but my own."
"Not even for her daughter's?"
"Not even for her daughter's." Mr. Longdon had not spoken loud, but he rang as clear as a bell.
Nanda, for admiration of it, broke almost for the first time into the semblance of a smile. "You feel as if my grandmother were quite your property!"
"Oh, quite."
"I say—that's splendid!"
"I'm glad you like it," he answered kindly.
The very kindness pulled her up. "Excuse my speaking so, but I'm sure you know what I mean. You mustn't think," she eagerly continued, "that mother won't also want to hear you."
"On the subject of Lady Julia?" He gently, but very effectively, shook his head. "Your mother shall never hear me."
Nanda appeared to wonder at it an instant, and it
127
