“The same old one,” Mr. Longdon smiled, “as much as possible. Some day I’ll tell you more of what you’re curious of. I can’t go into it now.” “Because I’ve upset you so?” Nanda frankly asked. “That’s one of the reasons.” “I think I can see another too,” she observed after a moment. “You’re not sure how much I shall understand. But I shall understand,” she went on, “more, perhaps, than you think. In fact,” she said earnestly, “I PROMISE to understand. I’ve some imagination. Had my grandmother?” she asked. Her actual sequences were not rapid, but she had already anticipated him. “I’ve thought of that before, because I put the same question to mother.” “And what did your mother say?” “‘Imagination--dear mamma? Not a grain!’” The old man showed a faint flush. “Your mother then has a supply that makes up for it.” The girl fixed him on this with a deeper attention. “You don’t like her having said that.” His colour came stronger, though a slightly strained smile did what it could to diffuse coolness. “I don’t care a single scrap, my dear, in respect to the friend I’m speaking of, for any judgement but my own.” “Not even for her daughter’s?” “Not even for her daughter’s.” Mr. Longdon had not spoken loud, but he rang as clear as a bell. Nanda, for admiration of it, broke almost for the first time into the semblance of a smile. “You feel as if my grandmother were quite YOUR property!” “Oh quite.” “I say--that’s splendid!” “I’m glad you like it,” he answered kindly. The very kindness pulled her up. “Pardon my speaking so, but I’m sure you know what I mean. You mustn’t think,” she eagerly continued, “that mother won’t also want to hear you.” “On the subject of Lady Julia?” He gently, but very effectively, shook his head. “Your mother shall never hear me.” Nanda appeared to wonder at it an instant, and it made her completely grave again. “It will be all for ME?” “Whatever there may be of it, my dear.” “Oh I shall get it all out of you,” she returned without hesitation. Her mixture of free familiarity and of the vividness of evocation of something, whatever it was, sharply opposed--the little worry of this contradiction, not altogether unpleasant, continued to fill his consciousness more discernibly than anything else. It was really reflected in his quick brown eyes that she alternately drew him on and warned him off, but also that what they were beginning more and more to make out was an emotion of her own trembling there beneath her tension. His glimpse of it widened--his glimpse of it fairly triumphed when suddenly, after this last declaration, she threw off with quite the same accent but quite another effect: “I’m glad to be like any one the thought of whom makes you so good! You ARE good,” she continued; “I see already how I shall feel it.” She stared at him with tears, the sight of which brought his own straight back; so that thus for a moment they sat there together.