III
It was half-past five when Mitchy turned up; and her relapse had in the mean time known no arrest but the arrival of tea, which, however, she had left unnoticed. He expressed on entering the fear that he failed of exactitude, to which she replied by the assurance that he was on the contrary remarkably near it and by the mention of all the aid to patience she had drawn from the pleasure of half an hour with Mr. Van—an allusion that of course immediately provoked on Mitchy’s part the liveliest interest.
“He HAS risked it at last then? How tremendously exciting! And your mother?” he went on; after which, as she said nothing: “Did SHE see him, I mean, and is he perhaps with her now?”
“No; she won’t have come in—unless you asked.”
“I didn’t ask. I asked only for you.”
Nanda thought an instant. “But you’ll still sometimes come to see her, won’t you? I mean you won’t ever give her up?”
Mitchy at this laughed out. “My dear child, you’re an adorable family!”
She took it placidly enough. “That’s what Mr. Van said. He said I’m trying to make a career for her.”
“Did he?” Her visitor, though without prejudice to his amusement, appeared struck. “You must have got in with him rather deep.”
She again considered. “Well, I think I did rather. He was awfully beautiful and kind.”