“Men are rare creatures!” Millicent cried. “You never so much as mentioned it?” “It wasn’t necessary. He knew it otherwise—he knew it through his sister.” “How do you know that if he never spoke?” “Oh because he was jolly good to me,” said Hyacinth. “Well, I don’t suppose that ruined him,” Miss Henning rejoined. “And how did his sister know it?” “Oh I don’t know. She guessed it.” The girl stared, then fairly snorted. “It was none of her business.” Then she added: “He _was_ jolly good to you? Ain’t he good to you now?” She asked this question in her loud free voice, which rang through the bright stillness of the place. Hyacinth delayed for a minute to meet it, and when at last he did so it was without looking at her. “I don’t know. I can’t make it out.” “Well, I can then!” And she jerked him round toward her and inspected him with her big bright eyes. “You silly baby, has _he_ been serving you?” She pressed her curiosity upon him; she asked if that was what disagreed with him. His lips gave her no answer, but apparently after an instant she found one in his face. “Has he been making up to her Serene Highness—is that his game?” she broke out. “Do you mean to say she’d look at the likes of him?” “The likes of him? He’s as fine a man as stands!” said Hyacinth. “They’ve the same views, they’re doing the same work.” “Oh he hasn’t changed _his_ opinions then—not like you?” “No, he knows what he wants; he knows what he thinks.” “Very much the ‘same work,’ I’ll be bound!” cried Millicent in large derision. “He knows what he wants, and I daresay he’ll get it.” He was now on his feet, turning away from her; but she also rose and passed her hand into his arm. “It’s their own business; they can do as they please.” “Oh don’t try to be a blamed saint; you put me out of patience!” the girl responded with characteristic energy. “They’re a precious pair, and it would do me good to hear you say so.” “A man shouldn’t turn against his friends,” he went on with desperate sententiousness. “That’s for them to remember; there’s no danger of _your_ forgetting it.” They had begun to walk but she stopped him; she was suddenly smiling at him and her face was radiant. She went on with caressing inconsequence: “All you’ve terribly told me—it _has_ made you nicer.” “I don’t see that, but it has certainly made _you_ so. My dear girl, you’re a comfort,” Hyacinth added as they moved further. Soon after which, the protection offered by the bole of a great tree being sufficiently convenient, he had, on a large look about them, passed his arm round her and drawn her closer and closer—so close that as they again paused together he felt her yield with a fine firmness, as it were, and with the full mass of her interest. XLII