"The conviction—strong already when I had seen you once—is strengthened in me by having seen your friend. There's no doubt about it. The world's before you."
"What did my friend tell you?" Milly asked.
"Nothing that wouldn't have given you pleasure. We talked about you—and freely. I don't deny that. But it shows me I don't require of you the impossible."
She was now on her feet. "I think I know what you require of me."
"Nothing, for you," he went on, "is impossible. So go on." He repeated it again—wanting her so to feel that to-day he saw it. "You're all right."
"Well," she smiled—"keep me so."
"Oh you'll get away from me."
"Keep me, keep me," she simply continued with her gentle eyes on him.
She had given him her hand for good-bye, and he thus for a moment did keep her. Something then, while he seemed to think if there were anything more, came back to him; though something of which there wasn't too much to be made. "Of course if there's anything I can do for your friend: I mean the gentleman you speak of—?" He gave out in short that he was ready.
"Oh Mr. Densher?" It was as if she had forgotten.