"Ah, you're in—a—lodgings?" he found himself inquiring as for positive sociability.
She had apparently a slight shade of hesitation, but in an instant it was all right; as what he showed he wanted to know she seemed mostly to give him. "Yes—but far of course from here. Up on the hill." To which, after another instant, "At The Mount, Castle Terrace," she subjoined.
"Oh, I know The Mount. And Castle Terrace is awfully sunny and nice."
"Awfully sunny and nice," Kate Cookham took from him.
"So that if it isn't," he pursued, "like the Royal, why, you're at least comfortable."
"I shall be comfortable anywhere now," she replied with a certain dryness.
It was astonishing, however, what had become of his own. "Because I've accepted—?"
"Call it that!" she dimly smiled.
"I hope then at any rate," he returned, "you can now thoroughly rest." He spoke as for a cheerful conclusion and moved again also to smile, though as with a poor grimace, no doubt; since what he seemed most clearly to feel was that since he "accepted" he mustn't, for his last note, have accepted in sulkiness or gloom. With that, at the same time, he couldn't but know, in all his fibres, that with such a still-watching face as the dotty veil didn't disguise for him there was no possible concluding, at least on his part. On hers, on hers it was—as he had so often
