I made no answer, and she gave a little laugh.
“You like to go?” I asked.
“No. I’m frightened. And suppose there’s another Mr Miles?”
“The infernal idiot!”
“He’s wise. Only—I’m amused. They’re right to send me away, though. I’m such an absurdity.”
“Yes,” I assented mournfully. “I’m afraid you are.”
She leant nearer still to me, half whispering in her talk. “I should never have liked him, but yet it hardly seemed strange that he should think of it. I’m forgetting myself, I think. In my next place I wonder if I shall remember at all!”
“You have your book and the picture.”
“Yes, but they seem dim now. I suppose it would be best to forget, as everybody else does.”
“Not everybody,” I said very low.