THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
Sir Luke wondered. "You mean they're lovers?"
"He is," Milly smiled; "but not she. She doesn't care for him."
Sir Luke took an interest. "What's the matter with him?"
"Nothing but that she doesn't like him."
Sir Luke kept it up. "Is he all right?"
"Oh, he's very nice. Indeed he's remarkably so."
"And he's to be in Venice?"
"So she tells me she fears. For if he is there he'll be constantly about with her."
"And she'll be constantly about with you?"
"As we're great friends—yes."
"Well, then," said Sir Luke, "you won't be four women alone."
"Oh, no; I recognise the chance of gentlemen. But he won't," Milly pursued in the same wondrous way, "have come, you see, for me."
"No—I see. But can't you help him?"
"Can't you?" Milly after a moment quaintly asked. Then for the joke of it she explained. "I'm putting you, you see, in relation with my entourage."
It might have been for the joke of it too, by this time, that her eminent friend fell in. "But if this gentleman isn't of your entourage? I mean if he's of—what do you call her?—Miss Croy's. Unless indeed you also take an interest in him."
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