“The thing I speak of is something I should at any rate have said, and I should have looked out for some chance if we had not had this one.” Mitchy spoke as if his friend’s last words were not of consequence, and he continued as Vanderbank got up and, moving rather aimlessly, came and stood with his back to the chimney. “My only hesitation would have been caused by its entailing our going down into things in a way that, face to face--given the private nature of the things--I dare say most men don’t particularly enjoy. But if you don’t mind--!” “Oh I don’t mind. In fact, as I tell you, I recognise an obligation to you.” Vanderbank, with his shoulders against the high mantel, uttered this without a direct look; he smoked and smoked, then considered the tip of his cigar. “You feel convinced she knows?” he threw out. “Well, it’s my impression.” “Ah any impression of yours--of that sort--is sure to be right. If you think I ought to have it from you I’m really grateful. Is that--a--what you wanted to say to me?” Vanderbank after a slight pause demanded. Mitchy, watching him more than he watched Mitchy, shook a mildly decisive head. “No.” Vanderbank, his eyes on his smoke-puffs, seemed to wonder. “What you wanted is--something else?” “Something else.” “Oh!” said Vanderbank for the third time. The ejaculation had been vague, but the movement that followed it was definite; the young man, turning away, found himself again near the chair he had quitted, and resumed possession of it as a sign of being at his friend’s service. This friend, however, not only hung fire but finally went back to take a shot from a quarter they might have been supposed to have left. “It strikes me as odd his imagining--awfully acute as he is--that she has NOT guessed. One wouldn’t have thought he could live with her here in such an intimacy--seeing her every day and pretty much all day--and make such a mistake.” Vanderbank, his great length all of a lounge again, turned it over. “And yet I do thoroughly feel the mistake’s not yours.” Mitchy had a new serenity of affirmation. “Oh it’s not mine.” “Perhaps then”--it occurred to his friend--“he doesn’t really believe it.” “And only says so to make you feel more easy?” “So that one may--in fairness to one’s self--keep one’s head, as it were, and decide quite on one’s own grounds.” “Then you HAVE still to decide?” Vanderbank took time to answer. “I’ve still to decide.” Mitchy became again on this, in the sociable dusk, a slow-circling vaguely-agitated element, and his companion continued: “Is your idea very generously and handsomely to help that by letting me know--?” “That I do definitely renounce”--Mitchy took him up--“any pretension and any hope? Well, I’m ready with a proof of it. I’ve passed my word that I’ll apply elsewhere.” Vanderbank turned more round to him. “Apply to the Duchess for her niece?” “It’s practically settled.” “But since when?” Mitchy barely faltered. “Since this afternoon.”