Nanda wondered. “But what’s the difference?”
Her companion jumped up again and for a moment pervaded the place. “When you say such things as that, you’re of a beauty—! MAY it,” he asked as he stopped before her, “be one of mine—a perfectly awful one?”
She showed her clearest interest. “As I suppose the most awful secrets are the best—yes, certainly.”
“I’m hideously tempted.” But he hung fire; then dropping into his chair again: “It would be too bad. I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Then why won’t THIS do, just as it is?”
“‘This’?” He looked over the big bland room. “Which?”
“Why what you’re here for?”
“My dear child I’m here—most of all—to love you more than ever; and there’s an absence of favouring mystery about THAT—!” She looked at him as if seeing what he meant and only asking to remedy it. “There’s a certain amount of mystery we can now MAKE—that it strikes me in fact we MUST make. Dear Mitchy,” she continued almost with eagerness, “I don’t think we CAN really tell.”
He had fallen back in his chair, not looking at her now, and with his hands, from his supported elbows, clasped to keep himself more quiet. “Are you still talking about Aggie?”
“Why I’ve scarcely begun!”