THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
You were capable in Venice of an act of splendid generosity."
"And the privilege you offer me with that document is my reward?"
He made a movement. "It's all I can do as a symbol of my attitude."
She looked at him long. "Your attitude, my dear, is that you're afraid of yourself. You've had to take yourself in hand. You've had to do yourself violence."
"So it is then you meet me?"
She bent her eyes hard a moment to the letter, from which her hand still stayed itself. "You absolutely desire me to take it?"
"I absolutely desire you to take it."
"To do what I like with it?"
"Short, of course, of making known its terms. It must remain—pardon my making the point—between you and me."
She had a last hesitation, but she presently broke it, "Trust me." Taking from him the sacred script, she held it a little, while her eyes again rested on those fine characters of Milly's which they had shortly before discussed. "To hold it," she brought out, "is to know."
"Oh, I know!" said Merton Densher.
"Well then, if we both do———!" She had already turned to the fire, nearer to which she had moved, and, with a quick gesture, had jerked the thing into the flame. He started—but only half—
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