BOOK FIFTH: THE DUCHESS
"I've asked her."
Once more Vanderbank faltered. "And that's how you know?"
"About your chance? That's how I know."
The young man, consuming his cigarette with concentration, took again several turns. "And your idea is to give one time?"
Mr. Longdon had, for a minute, to turn his idea over. "How much time do you want?"
Vanderbank gave a head-shake that was both restrictive and indulgent. "I must live into it a little. Your offer has been before me only these few minutes, and it's too soon for me to commit myself to anything whatever. Except," he added gallantly, "my gratitude."
Mr. Longdon, at this, on the divan, got up, as Vanderbank had previously done, under the spring of emotion; only, unlike Vanderbank, he still stood there, his hands in his pockets and his face, a little paler, directed straight. There was disappointment in him even before he spoke. "You've no strong enough impulse—?"
His friend met him with admirable candor. "Wouldn't it seem that if I had I would by this time have taken the jump?"
"Without waiting, you mean, for anybody's money?" Mr. Longdon, for a little, cultivated a doubt. "Of course she has seemed—till now—tremendously young."
Vanderbank looked about once more for matches and occupied a time with relighting. "Till now—yes. But it's not," he pursued, "only because she's so young that—for each of us, and for dear old Mitchy too—she's so interesting." Mr. Longdon had now stepped down, and Vanderbank's eyes followed him till he stopped again. "I make out that, in spite of what you said to begin with, you're conscious of a certain pressure."
"In the matter of time? Oh yes, I do want it done. That," the old man simply explained, "is why I myself
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