THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
what he felt. He felt, ever so distinctly—it was with this he faced Mrs. Lowder—that he was already, in a sense, possessed of what he wanted. There was more to come—everything; he had by no means, with his companion, had it all out. Yet what he was possessed of was real—the fact that she hadn't thrown over his lucidity the horrid shadow of cheap reprobation. Of this he had had so sore a fear that its being dispelled was in itself of the nature of bliss. The danger had dropped—it was behind him there in the great sunny space. So far she was good.
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