THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
know what's within. It's for you to break the seal that I bring it."
She looked—still not touching the thing—inordinately grave. "To break the seal of something to you from her?"
"Ah, precisely because it's from her. I'll abide by whatever you think of it."
"I don't understand," said Kate. "What do you yourself think?" And then as he didn't answer: "It seems to me I think you know. You have your instinct. You don't need to read. It's the proof."
Densher faced her words like an accusation, but like an accusation for which he had been prepared and which there was but one way to face. "I have indeed my instinct. It came to me, while I worried it out, last night. It came to me as an effect of the hour." He held up his letter, and seemed now to insist more than to confess. "This thing had been timed."
"For Christmas eve?"
"For Christmas eve."
Kate had suddenly a strange smile. "The season of gifts!" After which, as he said nothing, she went on: "And had been written, you mean, while she could write, and kept to be so timed?"
Only meeting her eyes while he thought, he again didn't reply. "What do you mean by the proof?"
"Why, of the beauty with which you've been loved. But I won't," she said, "break your seal."
"You positively decline?"
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