THE AWKWARD AGE
his cup. "And to Mr. Longdon only, eh? Is that a way of saying that it's none of my business?"
The fact of her attending—and with a happy show of particular care—to his immediate material want added somehow, as she replied, to her effect of sincerity. "Ah, Mr. Mitchy, the business of mine that has not by this time, ever so naturally, become a business of yours—well, I can't think of any just now, and I wouldn't, you know, if I could!"
"I can promise you then that there's none of mine," Mitchy declared, "that hasn't made, by the same token, quite the same shift. Keep it well before you, please, that if ever a young woman had a grave lookout—"
"What do you mean," she interrupted, "by a grave lookout?"
"Well, the certainty of finding herself saddled for all time to come with the affairs of a gentleman whom she can never get rid of on the specious plea that he's only her husband or her lover or her father or her son or her brother or her uncle or her cousin. There, as none of these characters, he just stands."
"Yes," Nanda kindly mused, "he's simply her Mitchy."
"Precisely. And a Mitchy, you see, is—what do you call it?—simply indissoluble. He's moreover inordinately inquisitive. He goes to the length of wondering whether Van also learned that you were expecting me."
"Oh yes—I told him everything."
Mitchy smiled. "Everything?"
"I told him—I told him," she replied with impatience.
Mitchy hesitated. "And did he then leave me also a message?"
"No, nothing. What I'm to do for him with Mr. Longdon," she immediately explained, "is to make practically a kind of apology."
"Ah, and for me"—Mitchy quickly took it up—"there
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