THE AWKWARD AGE
ignorance and a renunciation of thought? I put myself from this moment forth with you," Mitchy declared, "on the footing of knowing nothing whatever and of receiving literally from your hands all information and all life. Let my continued attitude of inquiry, my dear Nanda, show it. Any hesitation you may yet feel, you imply, proceeds from a sense of duties in London not to be lightly renounced? Oh," he thoughtfully said, "I do at least know you have them."
She watched him with the same mildness while he vaguely circled about. "You're wild, you're wild," she insisted. "But it doesn't in the least matter. I sha'n't abandon you."
He stopped short. "Ah, that's what I wanted from you in so many clear-cut golden words—though I won't in the least of course pretend that I've felt I literally need it. I don't literally need the big turquoise in my neck-tie; which incidentally means, by-the-way, that if you should admire it you're quite welcome to it. Sucl words—that's my point—are like such jewels: the pride, you see, of one's heart. They're mere vanity, but they help along. You've got of course always poor Tishy," he continued.
"Will you leave it all to me?" Nanda said as if she had not heard him.
"And then you've got poor Carrie," he went on, "though her of course you rather divide with your mother."
"Will you leave it all to me?" the girl repeated.
"To say nothing of poor Cashmore," he pursued, "whom you take all, I believe, yourself?"
"Will you leave it all to me?" she once more repeated.
This time he pulled up, suddenly and expressively wondering. "Are you going to do anything about it at present?—I mean with our friend?"
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