THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
does for me. But it will be capital to find you there."
"I think it ought to make you feel," she said after a moment, "that I am easy to treat."
But he shook his head again; he wouldn't have it. "You've not come to that yet."
"One has to be so bad for it?"
"Well, I don't think I've ever come to it—to 'ease' of treatment. I doubt if it's possible. I've not, if it is, found any one bad enough. The ease, you see, is for you."
"I see—I see."
They had an odd, friendly but perhaps the least bit awkward pause on it; after which Sir Luke asked: "And that clever lady—she goes with you?"
"Mrs. Stringham? Oh dear, yes. She'll stay with me, I hope, to the end."
He had a cheerful blankness. "To the end of what?"
"Well—of everything."
"Ah then," he laughed, "you're in luck. The end of everything is far off. This, you know, I'm hoping," said Sir Luke, "is only the beginning." And the next question he risked might have been a part of his hope. "Just you and she together?"
"No, two other friends; two ladies of whom we've seen more here than of any one and who are just the right people for us."
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