THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
pleasure your country can give. My holiday's over."
"I'm sorry you had to take it," said Milly, "at such a different time from ours. If you could but have worked while we've been working———"
"I might be playing while you play? Oh, the distinction isn't so great with me. There's a little of each for me, of work and of play, in either. But you and Mrs. Stringham, with Miss Croy and Mrs. Lowder—you all," he went on, "have been given up, like navvies or niggers, to real physical toil. Your rest is something you've earned and you need. My labour's comparatively light."
"Very true," she smiled; "but, all the same, I like mine."
"It doesn't leave you spent?"
"Not a bit. I don't get tired when I'm interested. Oh, I could go far."
He bethought himself. "Then why don't you?—since you've got here, as I learn, the whole place in your pocket."
"Well, it's a kind of economy—I'm saving things up. I've enjoyed so what you speak of—though your account of it's fantastic—that I'm watching over its future, that I can't help being anxious and careful. I want—in the interest itself of what I've had, and may still have—not to make any mistakes. The way not to make them is to get off again to a distance and see the situation from there. I shall keep it fresh," she wound up as if herself rather
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