BOOK TENTH: NANDA
She appeared to have a scruple of saying, but at last she produced it. "Yes—he doesn't mind now."
Mitchy again laughed out. "You are, as a family—!" But he had already checked himself. "Mr. Longdon will at any rate, you imply, be somehow interested—"
"In my interests? Of course—since he has gone so far. You expressed surprise at my wanting to wait and think; but how can I not wait and not think when so much depends on the question—now so definite—of how much further he will go?"
"I see," said Mitchy, profoundly impressed. "And how much does that depend on?"
She had to reflect. "On how much further I, for my part, must."
Mitchy's grasp was already complete. "And he's coming then to learn from you how far this is?"
"Yes—very much."
Mitchy looked about for his hat. "So that of course I see my time's about up, as you'll want to be quite alone together."
Nanda glanced at the clock. "Oh, you've a margin yet."
"But you don't want an interval for your thinking—?"
"Now that I've seen you?" Nanda was already very obviously thoughtful.
"I mean if you've an important decision to take."
"Well," she returned, "seeing you has helped me."
"Ah, but at the same time worried you. Therefore—!" And he picked up his umbrella.
Her eyes rested on its curious handle. "If you cling to your idea that I'm frightened you'll be disappointed. It will never be given you to reassure me."
"You mean by that that I am primarily so solid—"
"Yes, that till I see you yourself afraid—"
"Well?"
"Well, I won't admit that anything isn't exactly what I was prepared for."
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