THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
Mrs. Stringham, "it does pay." Then as if she had quite settled it for him: "You'll see for yourself."
He waited a moment, but said nothing to discourage her. "I think you were right just now. One must do something first."
"Well, you've done something."
"No—I don't see that. I can do more."
Oh, well, she seemed to say, if he would have it so! "You can do everything, you know."
"Everything" was rather too much for him to take up gravely, and he modestly let it alone, speaking the next moment, to avert fatuity, of a different but a related matter. "Why has she sent for Sir Luke Strett if, as you tell me, she's so much better?"
"She hasn't sent. He has come of himself," Mrs. Stringham explained. "He has wanted to come."
"Isn't that rather worse then—if it shows him as not easy?"
"He was coming, from the first, for his holiday. She has known that these several weeks." After which Mrs. Stringham added: "You can make him easy."
"I can?" he candidly wondered. It was truly the circle of petticoats. "What have I to do with it for a man like that?"
"How do you know," said his friend, "what he's like? He's not like any one you've ever seen. He's a great beneficent being."
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