THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
account in. For Densher, none the less, the profit of snatched moments, snatched contacts, was partial and poor; there were in particular at present more things in his mind than he could bring out while watching the windows. It was true, on the other hand, that she suddenly met most of them—and more than he could see on the spot—by coming out for him with a reference to Milly that was not in the key of those made at dinner. "She's not a bit right, you know. I mean in health. Just see her to-night. I mean it looks grave. For you she would have come, you know, if it had been at all possible."
He took this in such patience as he could muster. "What's the matter with her?"
But Kate continued without saying. "Unless indeed your being here has been just a reason for her funking it."
"What's the matter with her?" Densher asked again.
"Why, just what I've told you—that she likes you so much."
"Then why should she deny herself the joy of meeting me?"
Kate had an hesitation—it would take so long to explain. "And perhaps it's true that she is bad. She easily may be."
"Quite easily, I should say, judging by Mrs. Stringham, who's visibly preoccupied and worried."
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