THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
the lustre of her pearls, the value of her life, the essence of her wealth. It brought them, with faces made fairly grave by the reality she put into their plan, together again; Kate herself grew a little pale for it, and they had for a time only a silence. The music, however, gay and vociferous, had broken out afresh and protected more than interrupted them. When Densher at last spoke it was under cover.
"I might stay, you know, without trying."
"Oh, to stay is to try."
"To have for herself, you mean, the appearance of it?"
"I don't see how you can have the appearance more."
Densher waited. "You think it then possible she may offer marriage?"
"I can't think—if you really want to know—what she may not offer!"
"In the manner of princesses, who do such things?"
"In any manner you like. So be prepared."
Well, he looked as if he almost were. "It will be for me then to accept. But that's the way it must come."
Kate's silence, so far, let it pass; but she presently said: "You'll, on your honour, stay then?"
His answer made her wait, but when it came it was distinct. "Without you, you mean?"
"Without us."
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