She seemed content with the answer, whose meagreness responded sensitively to her own want of a true concern. She was not really interested, he felt, in any life that he might be living apart from her. She was very fond of him, as she said and he believed; but it was fondness, a liking for his company, an enjoyment of him, a desire to have him about her, had such a thing been still possible; it was not such a love or deep affection as would make his doings or his fortunes in themselves of great importance to her. Where his life was not in actual contact with her own, it did not touch her feelings deeply. Well, she had always been rather like that, taking what she wanted of his life and time, leaving the rest, and paying with her smiles. Well paid too, he had thought himself, and had made no complaint. He did not complain now either. He had never advanced any claim to more than her free grace bestowed; and what she gave had been to him great. But he felt a contrast. At home--his thoughts readily used that word now--his fortunes were matter for eager inquiry, excited canvass and speculation. His meagre answer would not have sufficed there. Judith and little Margaret had to hear about everything; even old Godfrey fussed about in easy earshot and listened furtively. It was not that Bernadette had changed; there was no reason to blame her, or call her selfish or self-centred. It was the others who had changed towards him, and he towards them, and he in himself. For Bernadette he was still what he had been before the flight--what Judith had once called a toy, though a very cherished one. To himself he seemed to have found, since then, not only a home but a life. She did not know that; she had not seen it happening. Nobody had told her; probably she would not understand if anyone did--not even if he himself tried to; and the task would be difficult and ungracious. And of what use? It would seem like blame, though he intended none, and against blame she was very sensitive. It might make her unhappy--for she was very fond of him--and what purpose was served by marring ever so little a happiness which, whatever else it might or might not be, was at least hard-won? She rose. "It must be getting late," she said, "and I'm going to the theatre. And back to Paris to-morrow! I shan't be in London again for a long long while. Well, you'll remember what to tell Godfrey--how I feel about Margaret? And--and anything kind about himself--if you think he'd like it." "I don't really think I'd better risk that." She smiled. "No, I suppose not. I'm never mentioned--is that it?" "Oh, Judith and I talk about you." "I daresay Judith is very--caustic?" "Not particularly. Not nearly so caustic as when you were with us!"