THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
harsh. Perfectly. She could afford to be the opposite." With which, as he said nothing, she just impatiently completed her sense. "She had had you here for six weeks."
"Oh," Densher softly groaned.
"Besides, I think he must have written her first—written, I mean, in a tone to smooth his way. That it would be a kindness to himself. Then on the spot———"
"On the spot," Densher broke in, "he un masked? The horrid little beast!"
It made Susan Shepherd turn slightly pale, though quickened, as for hope, the intensity of her look at him. "Oh, he went off without an alarm."
"And he must have gone off also without a hope."
"Ah that, certainly."
"Then it was mere base revenge. Hasn't he known her, into the bargain," the young man asked—"didn't he, weeks before, see her, judge her, feel her, as having, for such a suit as his, not more perhaps than a few months to live?"
Mrs. Stringham at first, for reply, but looked at him in silence; and it gave more force to what she then remarkably added. "He has doubtless been aware of what you speak of, just as you have yourself been aware."
"He has wanted her, you mean, just because———?"
"Just because," said Susan Shepherd.
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