She paused, brooding.
"I shall be," she said, "even if I never do anything again."
"Nothing," he assured her, "can take from you the things you have done. Look at Hambleby. He's enough. After all, Jinny, you might have died young and just left us that. We ought to be glad that, as it is, we've got so much of you."
"So much——"
Almost he could have said she sighed.
"Nothing can touch Hambleby or the genius that made him."
"George—do you think it'll ever come back to me?"
She stood still again. He was aware now, through her voice, of something tense, something perturbed and tormented in her soul. He rejoiced, for it was he who had stirred her; it was he who had made her feel.
"Of course," he said, "it'll come back. If you choose—if you let it. But you'll have to pay your price."
She was silent. They talked of other things. Presently the John Brodricks, the Levines and Mrs. Heron came out into the garden and said good-night, and Tanqueray followed them and went.