He balanced a moment. “Does she have a tea of her own?” “Do you mean to say you don’t know?”--Mrs. Brook asked it with surprise. “Such ignorance of what I do for her does tell, I think, the tale of how you’ve lately treated us.” “In not coming for so long?” “For more weeks, for more months than I can count. Scarcely since--when was it?--the end of January, that night of Tishy’s dinner.” “Yes, that awful night.” “Awful, you call it?” “Awful.” “Well, the time without you,” Mrs. Brook returned, “has been so bad that I’m afraid I’ve lost the impression of anything before.” Then she offered the tea to his choice. “WILL you have it upstairs?” He received the cup. “Yes, and here too.” After which he said nothing again till, first pouring in milk to cool it, he had drunk his tea down. “That’s not literally true, you know. I HAVE been in.” “Yes, but always with other people--you managed it somehow; the wrong ones. It hasn’t counted.” “Ah in one way and another I think everything counts. And you forget I’ve dined.” “Oh--for once!” “The once you asked me. So don’t spoil the beauty of your own behaviour by mistimed reflexions. You’ve been, as usual, superior.” “Ah but there has been no beauty in it. There has been nothing,” Mrs. Brook went on, “but bare bleak recognition, the curse of my hideous intelligence. We’ve fallen to pieces, and at least I’m not such a fool as not to have felt it in time. From the moment one did feel it why should one insist on vain forms? If YOU felt it, and were so ready to drop them, my part was what it has always been--to accept the inevitable. We shall never grow together again. The smash was too great.” Vanderbank for a little said nothing; then at last: “You ought to know how great!” Whatever had happened her lovely look here survived it. “I?” “The smash,” he replied, “was indeed as complete, I think, as your intention. Each of the ‘pieces’ testifies to your success. Five minutes did it.” She appeared to wonder where he was going. “But surely not MY minutes. Where have you discovered that I made Mitchy’s marriage?” “Mitchy’s marriage has nothing to do with it.” “I see.” She had the old interest at least still at their service. “You think we might have survived that.” A new thought of it seemed to glimmer. “I’m bound to say Mitchy’s marriage promises elements.” “You did it that night at Mrs. Grendon’s.” He spoke as if he had not heard her. “It was a wonderful performance. You pulled us down--just closing with each of the great columns in its turn--as Samson pulled down the temple. I was at the time more or less bruised and buried and didn’t in the agitation and confusion fully understand what had happened. But I understand now.” “Are you very sure?” Mrs. Brook earnestly asked. “Well, I’m stupid compared with you, but you see I’ve taken my time. I’ve puzzled it out. I’ve lain awake on it: all the more that I’ve had to do it all myself--with the Mitchys in Italy and Greece. I’ve missed his aid.”